The Prisoner
by Masquerading as Quality
Summary: Sixteen years ago, a wicked fairy condemned the Princess Aurora to die. A few days ago, defeated by Prince Philip and the Good Fairies, the wicked fairy Maleficent was confined to the dungeons of King Stefan's castle to await her own death sentence.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Edited! It was long overdue. Nothing significant changed, just some phrasing problems and a bit of description that I somehow just left out.

Just FYI, this story has no connection to Early to Bed. Some of the characters' back-stories overlap a little, but not completely, and the rules of this universe are different in rather significant ways.

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**Chapter 1 – The Visitor**

"Aurora?"

Briar Rose smiled and lit from her bed. She felt a little dizzy when she stood, and she had to sit back down, but at the very least she was sitting up when Philip entered their room. Prince Philip of the North was a tall and exquisitely handsome man with light brown hair and eyes. His frame appeared at first glance to be slim, but he was actually rather brawny in stature—his shoulders were broad and his arms were muscular.

"Aurora," Philip repeated warmly when he saw her, then, "Aurora," closing his eyes and savouring the name on his lips.

This habit of his already made Briar Rose very uncomfortable, and she had only known Philip for a few days. Every time he saw her, he said her name this way several times, and he saw her quite a lot.

The worst, however, had been on their wedding night. She had been so nervous, for she knew absolutely nothing of men. She had only been informed of her duties for the evening perhaps an hour before in a hurried, whispered conversation with her oldest aunt…or she supposed her non-aunt, who, herself, knew little of men. Briar Rose had left the conversation trembling and feeling as though she might expel the nonexistent contents of her stomach.

And then, after the initial pain had passed, when she had thought, _oh, this is not so bad_, he had begun. Begun to whisper and murmur and moan and cry out _Aurora_ and Briar Rose had, herself, begun to cry for how it shamed her. She was completely vulnerable—so much more vulnerable than she had ever been, which was saying quite a bit—and Philip, her one hope for a dream come true, for a familiar face who cared in this strange new place in which she found herself, called out for _Aurora_.

It was as though he were making love to someone who was not her.

She was not Aurora. She was Briar Rose.

"Philip," she replied, and she wondered what it must be like for him to hear the one he loved say his own name. She had considered telling him a few times, asking that he call her Rose as her aunts…well, as her…non-aunt fairy guardians did, but that was another kind of pain entirely. In any event, she doubted he would understand, for no one else seemed to, and considering how frequently he said her new name, she doubted he could learn to say her old one. Anyway, perhaps it was a good idea to try to leave the past behind. "What has happened? Is she…?"

Philip's expression darkened, "The creature is still alive—_it_ awoke sometime this morning. The Good Fairies feel that it would be unwise to kill the beast. They fear that some greater evil might arise to replace it."

Philip refused to refer to the wicked fairy Maleficent, of whose existence Rose had just recently learned, by her name or as a woman. It was Rose's opinion that referring to her as some kind of monstrous creature only made her sound even more frightening, but who was she to argue? She supposed she must have personally seen Maleficent at one point before the wicked fairy placed her under the Sleeping Curse from which she had just awoken, but she did not remember, and so she had no grounds on which to judge how Maleficent ought to be referred to.

The being in question had, according to Philip, turned into a fearsome dragon, which Philip had defeated with his sword. When it had fallen, it had morphed back into its usual form, a green-skinned human-like creature. It had been imprisoned physically and with the help of the Good Fairies' special magic for just such an occasion, and Philip, the Fairies, and a small council of soldiers had decided to leave it in the dungeon of Stefan's castle, just in case it was still alive.

"Well, I agree," she said and Philip chuckled.

"You agree, do you?" he asked, patting her hands. "And why is that?"

Suddenly Rose felt very stupid. She felt a blush rising in her cheeks as she spoke, "Well, it wouldn't do to sink to her level, would it? It is…" Philip looked as though he was barely containing uproarious laughter, and Rose had to swallow before she continued. "I mean, it is noble to let her live when she would not have done the same. Besides, perhaps she could come to regret—"

Apparently this was too much for Philip, for he began to laugh, and when he put his arm around her shoulders fondly, she very much wanted to shrug it off. "My sweet, sweet Aurora. Such a kind heart."

Briar Rose wanted to cry. "Then why are you laughing at me?"

Philip attempted to sober himself, but his face was red from the effort. "That creature is pure evil. It could never feel any sort of human emotions."

Rose frowned, "How can you be so sure?"

Philip shook his head and kissed her, and then rose from the bed. "I do wonder what it must be like inside your pretty head, my Aurora," he said fondly. "But I must be off. There is still much to discuss."

Rose had spent much of her time, particularly recently, wishing desperately for someone to talk to who was not one of her non-aunts. They were very dear to her, but they were all she had ever known, and she wanted very much to know other things. She had been utterly devastated when she learned that her entire life was a lie, and it had been a great source of comfort to her—perhaps the only source—when she learned that Philip would be a part of this new life. She did not know him, exactly, but she knew that he loved her, that he had fought a fearsome dragon to rescue her, and that he would not let any harm come to her.

What was more, Philip had led the life Rose might have known if not for Maleficent's curse. Minus all the dragon-hunting and sword-fighting, of course. Rose had hoped that he might understand how lost and how out-of-step she felt in King Stefan's castle. She had hoped that he would stay by her side while she experienced these new and frightening things, and that when they were alone she might sometimes ask him questions about his life, about the things she might have known, but did not. Of course she would not take up all of their time that way, but she had hoped that, given that her feeling of isolation and insufficiency was so all-consuming, it might warrant a bit of attention.

Granted, she had only been here for a few days, and it wasn't as though Philip never had time for her. She saw him quite often. But during all those times, he came and went frequently, and at night, he quickly became preoccupied with matters which were not conducive to talking, and amid all of it, they never really had a conversation.

Adding to the pressing feeling of isolation weighing upon Rose's heart was that she was not exactly permitted to leave her room without an escort. She was still very weak after her bout with the Sleeping Curse. She still needed quite a lot of sleep, and she was prone to dizziness and vagueness of mind. She supposed she understood, but she personally thought that a little more fresh air and sunshine than she got from her balcony might do her good, or would at the very least ease her feeling of imprisonment in her own bedroom.

Rose found herself in the depressing position, after the great adventure she supposed other people involved in the situation must have had, of being exactly back where she started. Waiting for life to happen to her was just as disheartening, no matter if she was doing it in a cottage or a castle. She spent her days lounging in a luxurious bed, drifting in and out of sleep, waiting for someone to come and visit her.

Her non-aunts came by far less often than Philip did. Perhaps they sensed on some level that she was still hesitant to see them after learning of their great list of lies. Perhaps not. The last time she checked, they seemed to believe that the only reason Rose had been so upset on the night of her sixteenth birthday was because of the arranged marriage which would keep her apart from the boy she had met in the woods. But it was so much more than that, and Rose still could not quite look at any of them in the eyes and pretend that everything was all right.

According to the fairies, Rose was to stay in her room for the next fortnight, until the Maleficent situation was cleared up, and then she would begin lessons in such things as reading, writing, and etiquette. It wasn't that Rose had no knowledge of these things, but her experience was nowhere near what it ought to be if she were to become Queen. The fairies had tried to give her lessons, but in Rose's defense, until very recently, she had not known that she would ever have a use for such nonsense.

The matter of the wicked fairy Maleficent troubled Rose quite a bit. If she had died in battle at Philip's hand, that would have been one thing, but since she survived, Rose did not see the purpose of killing her rather than simply keeping her imprisoned. It seemed spiteful, and Rose was not certain how she would feel about Philip and the fairies if they gave into spite that way.

If anyone ought to be angry with Maleficent, it was Rose. Maleficent had condemned Rose to death when she had not done anything at all. On top of that, because of this condemnation, Rose had become Rose for sixteen years, and now had to become Aurora again and pretend that none of that had ever happened. And yet Rose did not blame Maleficent, for she had never encountered the wicked fairy. It seemed a bit like blaming nothing at all.

An idea occurred to her, and she tried very hard to resist it, for she knew she should stay in her room, but Rose desperately wanted to know what was happening. She did not want to have to wait for Philip to return and get only a snippet of the truth which he deemed appropriate for her delicate ears. She imagined they must be discussing the matter right now.

What if she went in search of their little discussion?

Rose walked over to the door. She still felt a little light-headed and wobbly on her feet, but she had been lying down quite a lot lately. Perhaps it would do her some good to walk around. She touched the door handle experimentally.

Her hesitancy surprised her. The door was not locked. It wasn't as though she was a prisoner. She chuckled nervously and opened the door. What did it matter if she took a little walk? And if she were to happen upon Philip and the Good Fairies, well, then, what was the harm in that?

In spite of her internal pep talk to the contrary, Rose felt very guilty, as though she were sneaking around, and she all but tiptoed down the hallway outside of her room. The meeting was surprisingly easy to stumble upon—it was almost as though she had truly not meant to find them. She heard the three Good Fairies' voices clearly echoing through the quiet halls of the castle and followed the sound to an unmarked room.

Rose pressed her ear against the door.

"No, that wouldn't do at all," said Flora. "Rose—Aurora…has been through so much already. What could she possibly gain by encountering Maleficent?"

"But Flora, you know Rose! She—"

"Aurora."

"Rose or Aurora, she's too curious for her own good," finished Merryweather. "Don't you think she'll want to know who cursed her?"

"Aurora is weak, as you've all seen. It was a very great shock to her that anyone wanted her dead at all."

"And why shouldn't it be?"

"My point, Merryweather, is that I can see no reason for her to speak with Maleficent before the trial, and I can see many reasons against it."

A trial? But hadn't they already decided to let Maleficent live out the rest of her life in the dungeons? What would a trial decide?

"But won't it be a greater shock when she attends the trial, seeing Maleficent for the first time?"

"Fauna! Aurora wouldn't attend the trial! How absurd!"

"Well, I just thought, because it has so very much to do with her—"

"What Maleficent has done has little to do with Aurora and much to do with Stefan and Leah," Flora said firmly. "Besides, would you have kind-hearted Aurora listen to a death-sentence?"

"I suppose not."

Rose backed away from the door and ran back to her room, trying to calm the frantic beating of her heart. She had the awful sense that Philip had lied to her, and that her aunts were planning to lie to her, too. Had they not told her enough lies for one lifetime?

But she ought not to jump to conclusions. Perhaps Maleficent was to have a fair trial, and on the off-chance that the court decided in favour of…Rose swallowed the lump in her throat…death, they did not want her to have to witness that, for they felt she was kind-hearted and would mourn for Maleficent even if she deserved it.

That made sense, she supposed. Yet, Rose could not imagine any circumstance in which a person deserved death.

What if, as she had been trying to tell Philip, Maleficent came to regret her actions? People acted rashly. They made bad decisions. But they did not deserve to die for them. And if they died, they could never learn the error of their ways.

An idea began forming in the back of Rose's mind, catching like fire and spreading slowly until it was impossible to ignore. As soon as she noticed it there, she knew she must follow it, or she would burn forever for the knowledge.

Rose had to go and speak to Maleficent.

For one thing, this might very well be her only chance. No doubt everyone would want this trial over quickly, and apparently her husband and her former guardians had decided to keep her very much in the dark on the matter. Now that she knew…and especially now that she knew no one wanted her to know…Rose absolutely had to know more.

For another thing, it would get her out of this room. It had on more than one occasion occurred to Rose that doing as she was told wasn't going to get her the adventure she so craved. Additionally, if she continued to wait idly by for life to happen, in this particular instance, death might happen in the meantime.

Late that night, when Philip was snoring lightly and evenly, Rose crept from their bed and out of the room. She had only a vague idea of where she might find a dungeon—namely, underground, and so she wandered the castle stealthily for quite some time looking for stairs that led downward.

It was the first time Rose had seen much of the castle, and in this way, her very first adventure held far more excitement than she had anticipated. Though she found the main stairway with relative ease, she doubted that was her best course of action. She wandered past perhaps a dozen closed doors, musing that the castle was much bigger than it appeared to be from the outside, until she came upon another stairwell. This one struck her as eerily familiar, and as she made her way downward, she realized that these stairs also led up to the tower room.

Rose shivered and glanced over her shoulder at the path she only vaguely remembered taking, guided by a green light and an entrancing voice. It felt much more akin to a strange dream than to a memory, and the dream-memory ended with the top of the stairs. Though she had had a plethora of disturbing nightmares while she slept, the next thing Briar Rose remembered which could have even feasibly happened was awakening to Philip's smiling face.

When Rose reached the bottom of two flights of winding stairs, she was greeted with an open door revealing a hallway much like the one she had just left and another door made of metal bars separating her from another flight of stairs leading downward. It seemed Rose's search was complete.

The door made of metal bars appeared to be locked, but the lock did very little, as the door was not properly closed. It made an ear-splitting creak when Rose pulled it open, but Rose knew all too well that no one in the main part of the castle could hear anything going on in this stairwell. If the Good Fairies crying out for help and the voice of the very wicked fairy who posed such an immediate threat to the kingdom did not alert the scores of guests to the castle that evening, Rose doubted that a screeching doorframe would catch anyone's ear now.

Rose had to hold onto the wall and feel her way down each step, for all of the sconces in this part of the stairwell had burnt out. She could see a faint glowing light around the bend, but that did not help her find her footing on the winding staircase.

At last, Rose began to see the faint outlines of steps, and then she ran out of steps and continued along level ground.

"A visitor?" a voice called from the darkness. It was soft and low, almost frail, but resonant, so that Rose could tell that it was a mere echo of the power the voice could hold.

Beyond that, the voice was almost familiar, but Rose felt she had never truly heard it before, only its shadow, as though in a dream.

As Rose approached, she saw that there were bars. Behind the bars, she could just make out a shadowy figure of a person, possibly seated, definitely in chains.

"I was not expecting anyone so late. More secrets, I suppose?"

Rose approached carefully and as quietly as possible, though she was certain the wicked fairy could hear her, anyway. She wanted very much to get a better look at the shadowy figure before it got a look at her. The figure raised its head.

"My dear sir, you insult me," it said. "I can hear you. Step into the light, if you please."

Rose did not know why she blushed—embarrassment seemed an odd thing to feel. Still, she did as she was told and stepped into the light.

As she did, she found she could make out more of the prisoner's features. It was a woman with long, dark hair and very slender limbs. Her skin was possibly tan or olive, and her facial features were very sharp. Rose thought she could make out scars across the woman's face. Despite the fact that she was chained to a bench and to the wall behind her, there was something very regal and commanding about her presence.

"Well, well," she said and Rose could see the glint of torchlight upon her teeth as she smiled. "The Princess Aurora. I hope you will forgive me if I do not bow," she bowed her head, but judging from the numerous chains Rose could see, that was probably the only part of her body she could move. "To what do I owe this most surprising visit?"

Rose was, herself, quite surprised by such an amiable greeting. Emboldened by the prisoner's apparent willingness to talk, she stepped a little closer. "Are you Mistress Maleficent?" she asked.

Again the light glinted off of her smile. "At your service."

Rose shivered. "Philip said…he said his sword pierced you straight through the heart. How is it that you're alive?"

"It pierced my dragon form in the chest. The anatomy of dragons and fairies is understandably rather different."

Rose considered this, "But still, it must have been an awful wound."

"Yes, quite," Maleficent replied. She paused for a moment, then, when Rose said nothing in response, she continued. "However, wicked fairies are very difficult to kill, you know. As long as we survive the initial damage, our bodies can usually heal themselves."

"Truly?" Rose asked, daring to take another step forward. "That's remarkable! I admit I know nothing of wicked fairies."

"But you know of good ones," Maleficent offered.

Rose bit her lip, "I didn't know that I knew of them."

"Hm," Maleficent nodded. "Heaven forbid they should warn you of the peril you faced."

Rose was going to agree passionately, but suddenly she remembered exactly whom she was talking to, and she felt the need to defend her fairy aunts. "They were only trying to protect me."

"And a fine job they did of it," Maleficent said, and the amusement in her voice sent a chill down Rose's spine. "Sending puffs of their oh-so-colourful magic up into the air for any passer-by to see."

She should have defended them a bit better, perhaps, but she did not much feel up to it at the moment.

"But that is a matter of little interest to me," Maleficent said. "What is of great interest to me, Princess, is why you have come to visit me."

Rose suddenly found it very difficult to breathe. "I…well, I…"

"Have you come to lay eyes upon the monster who wanted you dead?" Rose's knees nearly buckled under her, and she grasped at the nearby wall for support. Maleficent chuckled. "It's as good a reason as any. This is likely your only chance. Tell me, am I what you expected, Princess?"

Rose bit her lip as she contemplated posing the question she desperately needed to ask. "Only chance?" she managed at last. "Philip said that they were going to…well, to keep you here."

"Hmm," Maleficent thought for a moment. "Perhaps he thinks you too kind-hearted to handle the truth." She tilted her head slightly. "Or too weak."

Rose swallowed the lump in her throat and steadied herself. She chose her next words carefully, trying not to sound as frightened as she felt. "Do you think me too weak to handle the truth?"

Maleficent considered this a moment. "The truth is that King Stefan has assembled a council of sorts to perform a trial, but it's all for show for the Good Fairies, who believe that if they kill me, some greater evil will rise to replace me. The King wants me dead, though, and so dead I shall be."

The words caused Rose's heart to wrench painfully in her chest, and she felt her eyes begin to water. "I was told King Stefan was a kind man."

Maleficent said nothing for a long moment, then gave a sort of half-chuckle. "You are very kind-hearted, aren't you?"

Suddenly empowered by the strength of her emotion, Rose approached the bars which caged the wicked fairy. Rose's breath caught in her throat.

Wide, dark eyes watched her carefully, perfectly arched eyebrows furrowed in suspicion. The fairy's lips were a deep red, and across her mouth in a jagged line ran one of two prominent scars on her face. The second was across the middle of her face, over her nose, as if someone had slashed at random to hit her. Her hair was very long and very dark, and it stuck out at odd angles. Some of it was plastered back from her face as if by sweat. Her skin was flawless and smooth apart from the scars. From afar in the dim light it had looked like a darker natural skin tone, but it was actually a light forest green.

The wicked fairy Maleficent was the most beautiful creature Rose had ever seen. Rose could hear and feel her heartbeat as though it were in her throat. She leaned closer to the bars. Maleficent, who had recovered her stoic facial expression, raised her eyebrows as if in a challenge. Rose slowly, carefully reached up and touched one of the bars. She waited a moment, then reached past the bars and touched Maleficent's cheek with her fingertips, steering clear of the scar in case it was a recent wound.

Maleficent's expression of aloof haughtiness changed abruptly. She curled her lip and something rather like alarm danced in her eyes, frightening Rose into drawing her hand away.

In a motion so quick Rose might not have caught it had she not been so close, Maleficent's eyes flicked down to Rose's hand and back up, assessing whether the danger of being touched again had passed. Rose rested her hand on one of the bars in silent apology.

"So tell me, _Princess_," she hissed with a little tilt of her head, her cool demeanour instantly restored, and Rose could not help but notice how dark and expressive her eyes were as they reflected the dim candlelight, "has Prince Philip secured your happy ending for you? Have all of your dreams come true?"

Rose bit her lip and looked down, focusing her eyes on Maleficent's hands, which were, as could be expected, as long and spindly as the rest of her body, and were confined by chains that did not look the same as the others. She could think of no answer to give this beautiful and terrifying woman who was bound and chained and condemned to death.

"I…I never wanted any of this," she said at last, but that was hardly an answer at all. She looked up into those captivating dark eyes which now regarded her with a glint of curiosity.

"The chains around my wrists have caught your eye," she said. Rose blushed, but she supposed Maleficent couldn't tell in this light. She nodded.

"They're quite remarkable, really, if magical artifacts interest you."

"They do," Rose replied quickly. Perhaps _terrified_ was a better term for what anything magical did to Rose, but magic fascinated every bit as much as it frightened. Briar Rose had grown up surrounded by magic, enveloped in it, and even chased by it, and yet she had not known!

A small smirk graced Maleficent's lips, and she lifted her hands so that the odd chains stood out. "Good and wicked fairies are natural enemies, and they have various defenses against one another. Some good fairies are very powerful—they make your three little old aunts look comical by comparison—" Rose flinched involuntarily at the word _aunt_. She was sure it did not escape Maleficent's notice, but the wicked fairy continued speaking, anyway. "Most good fairies live by a set of rules, a code which states that they may not directly harm another creature."

This caught Rose's attention. The way Philip boasted of his battle with the dragon, it was as though he had fought it alone; however, she suddenly wondered whether that made sense. "Did they…" Rose bit her lip. It seemed stupid to ask the wicked fairy any questions, and yet in the past few minutes, she had learned more than she had in years from anyone else. "Did the good fairies…enchant Philip? To…to fight you?"

Maleficent chuckled, "Of course they did! Mortals are no match for wicked fairies. My kin have fought singlehandedly against entire armies and won. We can take out hundreds, even thousands of men at once."

Against her better judgement, Rose leaned in closer, almost pressing her face against the bars.

"I don't know where your fairies acquired these," she said, indicating her chains. "They are specifically designed to render a wicked fairy powerless. They suffocate our magic, so to speak, and slowly, over time, drain it."

Rose inhaled sharply, "But that means—if they simply left you here, alive, you would lose your magic?"

"Correct," Maleficent nodded. "Not all of it, of course, but after…perhaps a decade, my magic would be too weak to do much of anything besides keeping me alive."

"But then," Rose bit her lip and looked away, "I don't understand why they intend to…to kill you."

Maleficent tilted her head and studied Rose for a moment with those piercing, dark eyes shining with torchlight. "It is a much better ending to their story, isn't it? The evil beast was vanquished and the Prince and Princess lived happily ever after?"

Rose wanted to cry. "That isn't a very good reason to take someone's life."

"You know," Maleficent began slowly, softly, "another interesting thing about these chains is that they have no key."

"What?" Rose looked up. "Then they can never come off?"

Maleficent shook her head, "No, they can come off at any time. Anyone can take them off except a wicked fairy."

Rose's eyes widened. "That's…well, it's odd, isn't it?"

"Presumptuous. Arrogant. Or odd, yes," Maleficent smirked. "So I have a proposition for you, Princess Aurora."

"A…a proposition?"

"You implied earlier that you are unhappy. I don't know to what extent you're aware, but I am a rather powerful sorceress. If you were to set me free, there is little I could not give you in return for your mercy."

Rose's eyes flickered down to the chains on Maleficent's wrists, and then back up to those dark, dancing eyes, down to the ruby red lips, over the scars, and for one wild moment, anything seemed possible. Maleficent's expression was impassive, but Rose knew what her request meant. It was the difference between life and death.

Suddenly something very important which had slipped Rose's mind occurred to her, and she jumped back from the cell as if burned. "You want to kill me."

Maleficent's features formed a strange, unreadable expression and she averted her eyes for a moment. "As I'm sure you have surmised, if you were to set me free, you would be saving my life. I suppose it depends upon how you assess my character as to whether you believe I would truly repay that kindness by taking yours." She sighed, "In any event, I only ask that you consider it, Princess. I have nothing to lose by asking, and I doubt your Prince will be permitted to execute me tomorrow."

This, or perhaps a combination of things, made Rose's stomach churn and her blood run hot. "You've been lying this whole time, haven't you? You've just been trying to manipulate me into helping you so you can carry out your plan! Well," she almost shouted, backing up haphazardly into the wall, "I am not the weak little fool everyone thinks I am! I will not die of stupidity before I have even lived!"

Rose ran around the corner and up the stairs, tripping and falling in the darkness several times, for she could not bring herself to slow down, to breathe, to think.

She ran all the way up the stairs, not even hesitating as she was stricken by the peculiar sensation of having walked that winding staircase in a dream. She raced back to her room and slid carefully back into bed next to Philip, who was still snoring quietly. She turned to face away from him and began to shiver violently. She thought of song after song to try to drown out her thoughts, but they kept resurfacing from the swirling melodies to haunt her.

She turned her head to look at Philip, the man who had risked everything to save her, or perhaps he had only been enchanted to do so by the good fairies. Perhaps this fight of which he told everyone who would listen was nothing more than a set-up by the three women who had been lying to Rose since she was a baby.

She thought of Maleficent, exquisitely beautiful even in chains, frighteningly powerful even in her weakest state. She imagined what it would be like to see her at her best, and she imagined that it would be unbearable. Rose could hardly handle Maleficent behind bars. She would be completely overwhelmed by Maleficent free, devastatingly beautiful and positively glowing with devastating magic.

Rose now held the wicked fairy's life in her hands, and this, too, was terrifying. She almost hated Maleficent for it. She knew her heart would ache for Maleficent every day of the rest of her life if she did not set her free, for it was now officially Rose's fault if that exquisite creature was put to death.

But what if it wasn't her fault at all? There was the very, very distinct possibility that Maleficent had been manipulating Rose throughout the greater part of the conversation, as soon as she had realized that Rose might be gullible enough to help her. What if Rose was smart to let the wicked fairy die, even though Rose, personally, thought it was spiteful and unnecessary to kill her?

Several hours later, after Rose had been debating the same points over and over and had still not reached a satisfactory solution, she fell into a restless sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Thank you so much for reading! Feedback would be much appreciated!

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**Chapter 2 – The Decision**

Briar Rose's dreams were not unexpected—she dreamt that she decided to free Maleficent, and that Maleficent transformed from the quiet, broken creature she was in chains into the fearsome monster of legend, and that the monster proceeded to chase Rose through an appropriately nightmarish obstacle course consisting of frightening elements from her recent past. Rose spotted and tried to seek help in Philip, but he simply patted her on the head and called her Aurora and told her she must have been dreaming, and so Rose continued to run until her feet became tangled up in nothing and she fell.

The dragon grabbed her in one of its giant talons, and she actually felt the constricting grip closing in around her. She screamed and sobbed and awoke in Philip's arms, fighting like mad to get away from the dragon, which was actually her husband trying to console her.

"Aurora! Aurora!"

"My name is not Aurora!" she sobbed. "Get your hands off of me!"

"Aurora, my love, calm down. It was only a dream!"

"My name is not Aurora!" Rose screeched, and with the last of her strength, finally succeeded in throwing Philip off of her. He rolled off the bed and landed on the floor with a murmur of surprise. Her energy completely sapped, Rose drew her aching limbs into her body and curled up into a tight ball to continue her weeping.

After quite some time, Philip recovered from his surprise and dared to ask, "What do you mean, your name is not Aurora?" He shook his head. He had heard the servants talking about Aurora in hushed tones, for they feared she was touched in the head, but he had refused to believe them.

"My name is Briar Rose," she replied without inflection.

Now Philip was truly worried. "No, it isn't, Aurora. Your name is Aurora. It has been since the day you were born."

Rose felt tears begin to well up in her eyes again, and one tricked down her nose and fell onto her pillow. "Perhaps," she said sadly. "But what of the time between then and now?"

Philip sighed. He had no talent for consoling hysterical women, and he was not a man who spent a great deal of time thinking or planning out his actions, but for the sake of his fragile wife, he tried very hard to choose his next words carefully.

"Aurora, I know it must have been very frightening for you…these past couple of weeks. But it all worked out, didn't it? We're together, and you have everything you want, and the evil sorcerer has been…has been captured. So. So there's no need to cry about it anymore. All of that is in the past now."

Rose squeezed her eyes closed and resisted the urge to cover her ears against the sound of his callous words. "Is it? Is it really?"

Realization dawned on Philip's face. "How did you find out?"

A mirthless chuckle escaped Rose's throat. "Was it such a big secret?"

Philip stood, "For good reason. I knew this would happen if you found out. Aurora, you have to understand, that creature is-"

"MY NAME IS NOT AURORA!" Rose cried, sitting up so suddenly that she felt light headed. She put her hands behind herself so that she did not fall down and began dragging herself off the bed to stand. "And _that creature_, Maleficent? Perhaps she has done some bad things. Maybe awful things, how should I know? No one tells me anything, so I don't know. But she is still a person, just like me, just like you, and she does not deserve to die. None of us deserves to die!"

"Aurora, stop it!" Philip cried. He grabbed her arms and held her to the bed. "You'll hurt yourself. Now, I'm going to go and get the Good Fairies and see if they can calm you down."

"Rose? Rose, what's wrong? What's going on up here?"

"Mistress Flora?" Philip called as the Good Fairy entered the room. "Did you just call her Rose?"

Flora blushed, "Oh, excuse me, Your Highness. Old habits die…hard," the word trailed off as she noticed the state the princess was in. "Are you all right, dear?"

"No, she is most certainly not all right. She's been raving for half an hour, saying her name isn't Aurora. Why do you think that could be?"

Flora looked horrified, "Aurora, dear…" She reached a hand out to the princess, who recoiled.

"And there's something else, Mistress Flora. It seems Aurora has found out about the situation with the beast in the dungeons."

Flora gasped, "What? But how?"

"How indeed?" Philip folded his arms. "Mistress Flora, I suggest you be more careful in the future. If this is the way you keep a secret from a mere girl, I must begin to seriously doubt your abilities as King's Counsel."

Flora bowed deeply, "I understand, Your Highness. I shall be more careful in the future." She turned to Aurora, who, to her surprise, was frowning. "Now, R…Aurora, dear,I know these past few weeks must have been very frightening for you, but—"

"Don't you dare say that everything worked out," Rose spat with a most uncharacteristic sneer.

Flora's first instinct was to back away, for she had never seen even the faintest glimmer of such rabid madness in the girl she had raised from infancy. And yet, her livelihood, her very reason for existence, had just been threatened. How could Rose, who was obviously so empathetic to the plight of Maleficent of all the God-forsaken things, not understand that?

"Aurora! Princess or no, you will not speak to me that way. Do you understand me?"

It was at this moment that Flora knew she had lost her little Rose, perhaps forever. This was not Briar Rose, for Rose would never have said anything so disrespectful. If she had, being scolded would have caused her such intense shame that she would have been completely cowed. Flora and her sisters would not have needed to punish her, for she would have punished herself for weeks to come.

This creature, however, who looked like Rose and sounded like Rose, sneered. She pushed Philip off of her once more and pushed herself off of the bed, and she stormed past Flora and out the door wearing nothing but her nightgown.

Flora was so stunned that she could not grab her wand in time to stop the girl. Philip was so stunned that he did not move to stop her. All they could do was to chase after her, crying out variations on her many names in an attempt to reach the girl they thought they knew within the monster they thought they saw.

While chasing after Aurora, Flora called out to Fauna and Merryweather. They, too, had been awakened by the screams of the princess, but only Flora had gone to check on her. It wasn't the first time Rose had had nightmares, after all, and how could they have known what a different situation this would turn out to be?

To everyone's immense shock, they found that they were chasing Aurora towards the door to the dungeons.

Briar Rose, for her part, did not feel particularly mad or out of control. In fact, she felt as though she had never seen things so clearly before. A mere girl, indeed! She would show them all! She would free herself from this place and find a life of her own. This would be what she asked of the wicked fairy Maleficent in return for her freedom.

Maleficent must certainly hear her coming, for Rose made no effort to lighten her footsteps. She ran down the stairs to the dungeon, almost tripping over herself in her haste. She rounded the corner and saw that the shadowy figure behind the bars had already lifted her head.

"Princess Aurora," said Maleficent as Rose stepped into the light, panting, her tone unreadable, her face hidden in shadow. "I…I confess, I was expecting someone quite different."

Rose said nothing. She had felt so sure of her decision until she laid eyes on the wicked fairy again. She was reminded of how overwhelming Maleficent was, even in her most vulnerable state. She was so spent already, she was suddenly not certain at all she could handle something so uncertain as what she was about to do.

"Aurora! Aurora, where are you?"

"What are you doing down there?"

And yet, was there really any going back now? What awaited her back there?

"Aurora!"

An asylum, most likely.

Maleficent said nothing, and Rose could not see her face.

"If I release you," Rose said softly, her voice raspy, "where will you go?"

"As far away as I can, I imagine," Maleficent said, surprised, her voice almost mirthful. "What is it you want in return, Princess?"

"I want you to take me with you."

For a moment, silence rang out through the dungeon. The only sound was of Rose's ragged breathing. But then, suddenly, there was a great rumbling of footsteps on the stairs, and the cries of Aurora began anew.

"As you wish," Maleficent said, almost inaudibly, and Rose heard the shifting of chains.

Rose ran forward. Her eyes locked with Maleficent's as soon as she could see them, and the intensity therein seemed to knock the breath out of her body. The wicked fairy Maleficent was gazing at her, black eyes (which Rose had imagined belonging to a fearsome beast) shining as though with tears, wrists held out to her. Maleficent was completely at Rose's mercy, as Rose had once been at Maleficent's.

Rose reached through the bars and touched the chains on Maleficent's wrists. They fell away instantly and clattered to the floor.

Maleficent closed her eyes and leaned her head back, and a smile crept across her lips as the footsteps rounded the corner and the rest of her chains began to slip from her body.

"Aurora? Aurora!"

"What are you doing over there? There's nothing to—"

Maleficent chuckled darkly and the voices ceased.

The dungeon, which had only been lit by a couple of torches, now glowed an eerie green. Philip and the three Good Fairies turned their attention from Maleficent to Rose, who did not take her eyes off of Maleficent.

"Rose," breathed Fauna with a little sob, "What have you done?"

Not much had changed about Maleficent's physical appearance. Her hair still stuck out in all directions when it was not plastered to her body, and it was all different lengths. Much of it looked as though it had been burnt off. Her face still bore a few nasty scars, as did the rest of her body, which Rose had not been able to see before. Her clothes were tattered, and her frame was skeletal, which was only emphasized by the eerie green glow emanating from her skin.

And yet, now, she radiated power and control. There was no vulnerability to her anymore. The things which made her weak before—her bedraggled appearance, her emaciated frame, the scars all over her body, only contributed to the discomfiting feeling that none of that—in fact, nothing at all—could stop her now.

The bars of Maleficent's cage literally melted away into puddles on the floor, and Maleficent walked forward slowly and deliberately. Rose shrank away, while Philip puffed out his chest and stepped forward as if to challenge her, though his only weapons were the Good Fairies, who looked as petrified as Rose.

Maleficent gave Philip a haughty once-over, smirked, and then turned her head to Rose, who narrowly avoided fainting dead away. If this was to be her end, she must meet it with dignity. She attempted to swallow, but her throat was completely dry. Maleficent offered Rose her arm, the way a gentleman would when walking with a lady.

Rose stared at it blankly, as did the four other people in the vicinity. Finally, with a shaky hand, Rose reached out and took Maleficent's arm. Maleficent raised her other hand, made a sweeping gesture which almost looked like a wave goodbye, and then they were gone.

Suddenly it seemed as though they were nowhere, and also perhaps flying through the air, and Rose felt nothing beneath her feet. She clung to Maleficent, who obliged by wrapping long, thin arms around her, and just when Rose began to feel distinctly embarrassed for her behavior, they landed on solid ground, and they were somewhere again.

Rose found that she was sitting in grass which was green and quite lush, but felt dry on her bare legs. This unfamiliar, prickly sensation reminded her that she was only wearing her nightgown, and she felt the urge to cover herself to preserve her modesty, even though she had just run all about the castle in this way. She waved the thought away, for it was useless now, and continued to investigate her surroundings. The air was uncharacteristically warm, though the sky was still dark. She could not see very much except that not far away, the grass turned into something more solid, and not much further away than that, the level ground turned into mountains. They must have traveled quite a distance, as Maleficent had promised.

Rose looked up suddenly in search of Maleficent. It occurred to her that Maleficent might have dropped her somewhere at random, away from the castle, but also away from her, and Rose felt suddenly very panicked, for left to her own devices, she would surely perish. Perhaps this was Maleficent's way of finishing her off.

But the wicked fairy in question stood a small distance away with her back to Rose. She appeared to be surveying the area, but with a far keener eye than Rose possessed at such an hour.

"What time is it?" Rose asked quietly, trying to disguise the intense relief she felt at not being abandoned. This was perhaps not her most burning question, but it was fairly innocuous.

Maleficengt turned and looked at her as if she had forgotten Rose was there. "I don't know," she said. "Four or five o'clock. A few hours until dawn yet, by the look of the sky."

Rose nodded. "Where…where are we?"

Maleficent approached and offered Rose her hand. Again, Rose stared at it for a moment before taking it. "In the Land of the Two Rivers, a short walk from the Dragon Country." Rose stood, but did not let go of Maleficent's hand, for she feared her legs would not support her. "You must be very tired. I would have brought us directly to my home, but I have not been here in quite some time, and I was not certain what to expect. This was a rather volatile territory when I left."

It struck Rose as very odd that Maleficent had lived somewhere other than her legendary castle in the Forbidden Mountains. Rose had only been aware of the wicked fairy's existence for a fortnight at most, and yet the way people spoke of her made her seem like some kind of ancient myth, distant, unreal, unchanging. It was strange to think of her as a normal person who sometimes changed places of residence.

"How long ago did you leave this place?"

Maleficent thought for a moment, "Almost a century ago, I suppose." Rose's eyes widened and she let out a little gasp. "Do you feel well enough to walk now?" she asked. If she had seen the surprise on Rose's face, she politely ignored it.

"I think so," Rose replied.

Maleficent offered Rose her arm as before, and Rose tried very hard not to lean on it too much, but her legs felt shaky and her feet refused to cooperate, stumbling with every step she took. Maleficent continued to speak, "May I ask what your cause for surprise is, Your Highness? I know a century must seem like an eternity to you, but to a fairy it is not so long at all."

Without very much forethought at all, Rose said exactly what she was thinking. "I hope you will forgive my rudeness, but how is it that you appear so young and my aunts…I mean, the Good Fairies…look so old?" Once the words were out in the open air, Rose blushed and immediately regretted her question, but Maleficent merely chuckled good-naturedly. The sound would have been warm if her voice were not so chilling.

"Well, even Mistress Merryweather has a few centuries on me, Princess Aurora."

Rose bit her lip, "Would you mind…calling me…I mean, my name…it's…" She swallowed, "All my life, I have answered to Briar Rose."

"Briar Rose," Maleficent repeated quietly, and a very different sort of chill ran through Rose's body. It felt so good to hear someone use her real name—_no, not just anyone,_ a little voice told her, but that thought brought back her general unease and so she ignored it the best she could. She noticed suddenly that Maleficent was chuckling.

"What?" she asked, feeling heat flood her cheeks.

"Nothing, nothing," Maleficent said, evidently holding in her laughter. "It's very subtle of them."

Rose did not understand the joke, and she was fairly certain that it was at her expense. She felt tears begin to well in her eyes and reached up to wipe them away. Maleficent stopped walking.

"Forgive me, Your Highness," she said, all amusement gone from her voice. "I wasn't laughing at you."

Rose sniffed and turned her back to Maleficent, trying not to let her legs give way underneath her. "What are you doing, asking for my forgiveness? You're a wicked fairy who wants me dead, aren't you? Just kill me, already. I'm too stupid to live."

"That's rather dramatic," Maleficent said evenly. "Anyway, I'm hardly going to kill you after you've just saved my life. Now, it's very late…or early, depending upon your interpretation, and I daresay you could use a good night of sleep. Let us continue our journey on foot, or I shall be forced to carry you like a child. This is no place to be lurking about at night."

Rose turned around, tears of embarrassment streaming unchecked down her face, to find that Maleficent was offering her arm. She could not see Maleficent's face, but merely the outline of her tall frame and the pieces of hair still standing out. Feeling very ashamed, Rose took Maleficent's arm and they continued to walk.

What had come over her? Not just now, but all night? This strange woman, this woman who had cursed her when she was merely a baby, had come into her life and turned her entire world upside down not once, but twice. First Rose had been forced to leave her home in the forest with the three women she had believed to be her aunts, and this evening, she had succumbed to utter madness. She had snapped at her husband and her non-aunt and she had gone running through the castle to offer her hand to the woman who wanted her dead, and now they were who-knew-how-far away from the castle and from everything with which Briar Rose was even superficially acquainted.

The castle to which Maleficent led her reminded Rose a little of the pictures she had seen of the Forbidden Mountains, but it was not quite so angular. It did not fit her image of Maleficent like that picture did, but there were elements of her in it. Not that she knew what she was talking about—she had only known this woman a few hours.

Maleficent waved her hand and the giant doors which made the grand entrance flew open.

The castle was most certainly deserted, and had been for some time. The furniture looked as though it had once been very impressive, but it had fallen into awful disrepair, and everything was covered in a thick layer of dust. When the fresh night air rushed into the room, several dozen rats scattered away into the shadows.

Maleficent entered and turned in a circle, surveying the room. Rose hesitantly followed.

"Fetch a broom," Maleficent said to her.

"Wh-what?" Rose stammered, but Maleficent was already laughing quietly and walking away from her. She made a sweeping gesture with her hands and the dust slipped away like a blanket.

"I confess I would get quite a kick out of seeing your three fairies cleaning without magic," she said as she made little swirls with her fingers to repair the legs of a chair. "I find this a bit tedious because I usually have a staff to help me. One wave and the entire room would be as it was."

Rose dared to smile, just a little. "That really should have been my first clue. I did most of the cooking and cleaning, since I was very small, because none of them ever really got the hang of it. I found it sort of odd, but I never gave it much thought."

Maleficent nodded to herself. "As I mentioned, sixteen years is not a very long time to a fairy. Especially when you've lived for several centuries with the ability to wave your hands and have whatever you want, most fairies become quite complacent."

Rose bit her lip, trying to keep her smile in check. "That would explain the gardening, too, I suppose."

Maleficent chuckled. "Even Flora? That is her dominion, after all."

Rose nodded fervently, "Especially Flora. She was the only one who ever even bothered, and she would sometimes just stare at the flower boxes like they were offending her! I always ended up watering the flowers because I couldn't bear to see them die. Aunt Flora got so upset," she shook her head, caught between laughing and crying at the memory.

Maleficent, who had ceased repairing furniture to engage in this conversation, seemed to sense Rose's unease. She went back to her work.

Rose shook her head again, this time to clear her muddled thoughts. "But didn't they have to learn to do all of that with magic? Wouldn't that be just as difficult as learning to do it by hand?"

Maleficent considered this for a moment. "No, I don't think so. I don't even remember being taught to do any of that. My sisters and I were assigned cooking and cleaning and gardening as chores, and it was just a wave of the hand. It never took much time or effort."

"You have sisters?"

Maleficent was silent for a moment, and she appeared to be concentrating very hard on a scratch in a side table. "I did, yes," she said at last, softly.

Rose was torn on whether she ought to let this go. Maleficent clearly did not want to talk about what happened to her sisters, but Rose got the impression that she had never talked about it with anyone, and that might have been a very long time ago, and she might have needed to talk, and… "What happened?"

Maleficent traced the scratch with her index finger for another tense moment. "They were killed."

Rose took two tentative steps forward. "How long ago?"

Maleficent looked up, but her focus was on the blank wall ahead of her. "About a century ago, I suppose."

Rose reached out and put her hand on Maleficent's arm. Maleficent jumped away from her and threw Rose off of her arm, and Rose felt a supernatural burning sensation searing across her skin as she fell back onto the floor. Maleficent stood, arms raised as if ready for a fight, wide-eyed and panting.

"I'm sorry," Rose choked out. "I…I'm so sorry."

Maleficent blinked a few times, staring at Rose as if she could not really see her. After a moment, her shoulders slumped and she leaned against the end table with her eyes closed. "It would be in your best interest," she said, her voice soft, her words clipped, "not to startle me." She opened her eyes and Rose was stricken by how very black they were. Maleficent's expression softened somewhat and she took a step forward and offered her hand to Rose. "I am sorry. I hope I didn't hurt you."

Rose swallowed and shook her head, but she remained still, leaning back on her hands, shivering.. A moment of tense silence passed. Rose did not realize she was crying until she felt the tears begin to stream down her cheeks.

Maleficent dropped her hand and knelt down in front of Rose. Her expression was unreadable now, but there was no longer any trace of malice in it. Rose felt the overwhelming urge to launch herself upon Maleficent and cry into her shoulder, but given what had just happened when Rose merely touched Maleficent's arm with her fingertips, she doubted that would end well. And so she sat still and continued to weep openly with nothing and no one to comfort her.

After another few minutes, Maleficent stood and disappeared up the stairs, and this only made Rose sob harder. She supposed Maleficent had no obligation to stay with her while she cried. Perhaps Maleficent thought she was the reason for Rose's emotional breakdown, but that was only a tiny fraction of it. Maleficent was terrifying, volatile, wild. She had gone from participating in a civil conversation to lashing out with dark magic at the drop of a hat. And yet, she was now the only person Rose had who did not seem intent upon locking her away for the rest of her life.

A few minutes ago, Rose had not thought it possible to be more alone than she was. Somehow she had managed it.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Remember that time I wasn't happy with this chapter? Well, now it's better. It changed pretty significantly in tone and a little bit in content, so it might be worth a reread if you care. As always, feedback would be much appreciated!

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**Chapter 3 - The Dragon**

Rose collapsed onto the hard floor, more from exhaustion than anything else, and her tears soon subsided. She hardly felt the uneven stones beneath her—her body was mostly numb now. She was already half-asleep when she felt long, slender fingers running through her tangled hair and cradling her head.

She opened her eyes groggily to see Maleficent leaning over her, the harsh features of her face as close to impassive as they could be. She supposed she ought to have been frightened, but she was too tired to feel more than one thing at a time, and at the moment, her senses were concentrating on how good it felt to be touched so gently.

Maleficent lifted Rose up to a sitting position and then scooped her up in her arms, every touch gentle, feather-light, almost soothing. Rose wrapped her arms sleepily around Maleficent's neck. She took a strand of Maleficent's hair between her fingers and examined it. It was thick, healthy hair, not particularly soft, and it did indeed feel as charred as it looked. Still, there was something very pleasant about it, and Rose ran her fingers through the hair she could reach without losing her grip as Maleficent carried her upstairs and into a bedroom.

She could not make out much about the room in the dim light of early morning, and so she decided not to try. It mattered most to her that the bed was exquisitely soft and the pillows and sheets smelled fresh and clean. Maleficent tucked her in briskly and before she left, she touched Rose's forehead, just for an instant. But then it was over, and she strode quickly out of the room. Rose decided just before she fell into a deep slumber that she must already be dreaming.

When she awoke, she was stricken by panic, for she could not remember where she was, nor how she had gotten there. She sat up in the foreign bed for several minutes, shaking with terror, as she slowly realized that the events of the previous evening had not been a particularly upsetting nightmare.

She had run away from home. She had run away from her husband and from her fairy non-aunts and from her parents. She had run away from being a princess, from being Princess Aurora.

But in doing so, she had still run away from home, in every sense of the word. She had run away from all that was even marginally familiar to her. She had run away from the people who loved and cared for her, however misguidedly, and to whom?

The wicked fairy who wanted her dead.

The thought made Rose want to cry. How stupid could she be? How desperate for adventure, that she would put herself in direct danger for a chance at seeing anything beyond the confines of Princess Aurora's destiny? She ought to be crying for what she had lost, and yet she supposed that after last night's episode, she must be fresh out of tears, for she merely felt exhausted. As she glanced around the unfamiliar room where she had slept, she realized that last night might actually only have been a few hours ago, as the room was still lit only by the faintest glimmers of morning.

The walls of the little bedroom were faded blue and otherwise bare. The room was sparsely furnished—there were a chest of drawers and a small desk across from the bed where Rose lay. Next to the bed stood a small table with a few books on it. Rose sat up, feeling slightly dizzy, but surprisingly well-rested, and examined the books. The first was a very large, thick black book titled _The Art of Defensive Magic_. It had a golden silk bookmark about halfway through. Beneath that was a faded blue book titled _The Magic of the Elements, Volume II_. The third was a light brown book with no title on the cover. Rose flipped it open and found that it was called _The Biography of Mistress Acacia of the Kingdom by the Sea_, and that it was written by Mistress Kinsale of the Kingdom of Hill and Valley.

Rose could not read especially well, and so she decided not to spend too much time trying to flip through any of these books. She doubted she would understand them, anyway. By the sound of it, they were all about magic and magical creatures. She lit from the bed and walked over to the desk, where there were more books, some papers, and quills made from a variety of colourful feathers.

The chest of drawers was filled with very lovely clothes and underthings, which were ostensibly made for someone much smaller than Rose. They looked as though they might be a child's clothes, and yet they were so beautifully made, Rose could not even fathom such a thing. She had always had to make her own clothing from whatever fabric her fairy non-aunts brought home, and there had been no sense in spending a lot of time on something she would grow out of.

With nothing left to investigate, Rose sat upon the edge of the bed and cradled her head in her hands and tried to wrap her mind around the situation into which she'd gotten herself. She'd been so upset when she found out that, on top of the great lie which had been her childhood, her aunts intended to keep yet another secret from her. In fact, she'd been more than upset. Rose had never been angry in her life. She wouldn't know what it felt like if she were, and yet she imagined it must be similar to the way she'd felt upon learning that she was to be lied to yet again. She'd wanted to do something about it, and, finding herself with limited resources, had sought out the truth, if nothing else.

In search of the truth, Rose had found Maleficent, and there was no telling where she lay on the scale of accuracy. If Rose's aunts were to be believed, Maleficent told nothing but wicked lies.

Flora had told her that Maleficent was pure evil. Maleficent wanted her dead—"You, Rose! Of all the terrible people in this world! You were such a sweet child, too, Rose. You never made a fuss, you were always so happy, and such a pretty babe. And Maleficent came storming into your christening uninvited and cursed you to die!" Flora had explained that the Queen—or rather, Rose's mother—had even considered inviting Maleficent to the christening, kind-hearted as she was, and the king—that is to say, Rose's father—as well as the fairies had been vehemently against it.

"But," Rose had asked, "didn't you say she was so angry because she wasn't invited? If you had simply invited her, perhaps—"

"Now, Rose," Flora had chided, "I know you know nothing of the evils of this world, and I am so glad of it. But Maleficent would have caused trouble no matter what. That is her nature. We were only trying to protect you."

Fauna had been far gentler, but equally set in her opinion. "Maleficent is a very unhappy woman, Aurora," she had said, barely contained melancholy in her tone as she dutifully used Rose's given name, as was required of her. "And I don't think it's entirely her fault. It's in her nature, you know. She simply doesn't understand love or kindness or affection…or any of the things that fill a person's life with joy. All wicked fairies are like that."

This statement had made Rose very curious. "What are other wicked fairies like?" she asked. "Do they look the same? Act the same way?"

Fauna had become very nervous at Rose's query and had answered her carefully. "Well, I haven't interacted with very many," she said slowly. "But the others I've met haven't been nearly as…powerful…as she is, to say the least. That is the troubling thing about Maleficent—she's very smart. I don't think any of those other wicked fairies could have cursed someone to…to die, even if they wanted to. It's only…" she bit her lip "…it's such a shame that she uses her extraordinary intelligence that way. To make bad things happen." She shook her head, "But as I said, I don't think she could do any differently if she tried. It's simply the way she was born."

Merryweather had been by far the most aggressive, even more so than Philip. "Oooooh, just thinking about it makes me so mad, I could just…!" She shook her fist at nothing. "Don't you worry your head about that evil thing one minute more, Rose," she said firmly, for she defiantly refused to call her little Rose by any other name. "I'm sorry you had to know about her at all."

A few days and a lifetime ago, Rose would have smiled fondly and agreed to put the matter behind her. But Merryweather had lied to her just as freely as her other two aunts. Merryweather, who so firmly believed in telling it like it was, had never bothered to mention her long list of untruths, and did not even have the decency to act ashamed now that the news was out.

As it stood, Rose frowned ever so slightly. "But Aunt Merryweather, I only want to understand why. There must have been a reason she did it."

Merryweather shook her head. "Sweet girl," she said, patting Rose's hands, "she did it because that is what wicked fairies do. They cause trouble. Maleficent was upset that the King and Queen didn't acknowledge her power by inviting her to your christening, so she decided to show them exactly what that power could do."

"But here's the other thing I don't understand—why would she make it sixteen years? That seems very strange to me. It's a random number, and it doesn't make sense why she wouldn't simply kill me immediately."

Merryweather suddenly became very interested in her fingernails. "Rose," she said softly, her voice weak, "don't say such things. How should I know why she cursed you the way she did? She didn't kill you right then because she thought it would be more painful to give you a short time to live before she took you away. I don't know. Just…just don't worry about it anymore, okay? It's over now."

_But here's the last thing, Merryweather,_ thought Rose sadly, _how can it ever be over?_

Everyone wanted so desperately for the matter to be _over_. They wanted Rose cured of the after-effects of the Sleeping Curse. They wanted Philip and Rose married and the Northern and Eastern Kingdoms united. They wanted Maleficent dead and out of the way forever.

No one seemed to see that this ordeal that they wanted over and done with was the entirety of Rose's existence. When it was over, what would Rose be left with? Nothing. Rose wouldn't exist anymore. She would be Aurora.

This was the reason Rose had run away. This was the reason she had chosen the possibility of immediate danger over another day in what seemed to her little more than a gilded cage. She had to hold onto herself. No one else was going to do it for her.

Anyway, she had survived the night, brief though it may have been. Maleficent had thus far honoured her twisted promise of a life for a life. Rose wondered idly where Maleficent might be. Was she sleeping? Had she left for some far-off land, abandoning Rose to die alone in some strange castle?

Rose had long since stopped quivering in fear. She'd gotten herself into this mess. She was either going to die or to have quite an adventure, and there was no sense in delaying the inevitable. She lit from the bed, opened the door into the hallway, and went in search of the wicked fairy whose company she'd decided to keep.

The corridors of this castle were as different from the elegant halls of King Stefan's castle as anything could be. The floor was not covered by any sort of carpeting, for one thing, and it was uneven. Rose rolled her ankles at least twice stepping into spots where a large stone was missing. The walls were bare aside from the multitude of spider webs, some of which were the homes of some very large and frightening spiders. Where most of the doors in Stefan's castle were always closed, most of the doors in this castle either hung open or were not there at all, and almost every doorway was the territory of a fuzzy-legged arachnid. None of the rooms looked as though they might be inhabited by another person. Rose supposed she might be underestimating Maleficent's tolerance for dust and creepy bugs, but given the amount of work she had ostensibly put into making Rose's bedroom livable, Rose imagined she would do the same for herself.

The staircase which Maleficent had so gracefully ascended with Rose in tow—assuming that was not a dream—was anything but sound in construction. Rose could see through some of the steps all the way to the grand ballroom below her, and with every step she took, a little more stone crumbled beneath her feet. It was most unnerving, and she was much happier when she landed upon the solid, albeit uneven, floor of the ground level.

The grand ballroom now actually looked like one—Rose supposed Maleficent must have done some more work on it after putting Rose to bed. The furniture was ornate, the rugs were brightly-coloured and looked very clean, and the entire room had a regal glow about it, where the rest of the castle felt as gloomy and deserted as it looked.

After a thorough inspection of the dining room and the kitchens, which were still in relative disrepair, Rose began to contemplate the notion of going outside to look for Maleficent. She remembered all too well Maleficent's insinuations that the territory was not particularly safe, and Rose somehow doubted that she was referring to dragons. Then again, what choice did Rose have? She could look outside or she could sit and wait and drive herself insane with questions she could not answer. If Maleficent was in the castle, she had hidden herself well. It was bright outside now, and Rose would just take a little look around. She would go back inside if there was no wicked fairy to be found and go from there.

Rose pushed open one of the two giant front doors, and it gave an enormous creak of protest. She squinted in the morning light as it flooded into the grand ballroom and stepped tentatively out onto the smooth, hard rock outside the door. Though the front of the castle was still in the shade, the stone was warm on her bare feet. She took a few more steps and closed the front door behind her.

This land—what had Maleficent called it? The Dragon Country?—was exquisitely beautiful. The sky was the bluest Rose had ever seen, the clouds were the fluffiest and whitest, and the stone beneath her feet was smooth and almost shiny. The landscape was hilly and a short walk away, Rose could see the beginnings of mountains. In the other direction lay more hills covered in deep green grass and intensely colourful wildflowers.

There was something extremely disconcerting about the whole scene, and it suddenly occurred to Rose just what was wrong, and what had been wrong since her arrival: there was not a single sound.

There was no wind, and so there was no rustling of leaves or grass. There were no bird calls and no footsteps of little woodland creatures. There were no distant sounds of people's voices, though it was clearly late enough in the day for other people to be awake. The only sound Rose could hear was that of her own breathing, suddenly deafening in the utter stillness.

When Rose heard another sound, her heart skipped a beat and she jumped. Swift footsteps seemed to fall all around her, echoing off the mountains, filling her ears and dictating her heartbeat. Rose did not know what to do—she thought perhaps she should go back inside, but she was too frightened to move.

A woman appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, and Rose tried to scream, but it felt as though her voice were too hoarse to make any sound. She backed away slowly, but the woman kept approaching with heavy, sure steps. She was old. Her curly, chestnut brown hair was heavily streaked with grey, her face was lined, and there was a slight hunch to her back. The woman was taller than Rose, and a bit more full-figured. Her face was soft and kind, as were her brown eyes.

"Out of curiosity," said the woman, perhaps not kindly, but her voice was so warm that anything she said would have sounded kind. Rose did not dare relax. "what would you do if I attacked you right now?"

Rose blinked in confusion. "What?"

"Would you simply accept your fate and die, just like that? Or would you try to run? Or fight?"

"I—I don't—"

Suddenly, something very strange began to happen. The woman seemed to grow taller and more slender right before Rose's eyes. Her hair waved in the nonexistent wind and suddenly, a rush of black swept through the graying curls. An invisible source seemed to pour light forest green onto the woman's skin like a waterfall, and the stranger who was in many ways the exact opposite of Maleficent was suddenly Maleficent. Rose collapsed to her knees, utterly overwhelmed.

Gone was the gaunt, frail creature from King Stefan's dungeons. Maleficent wore an exquisitely beautiful purple dress with a long, flowing skirt and sleeves. There were no longer any scars on her face or arms, and her smooth, green skin seemed to glow, not with magic but with health in the morning sun. Her long, dark hair suddenly swept itself up and out of sight, replaced by a black and purple horned headdress.

"I suppose I ought to be glad you didn't invite me in," Maleficent said.

"You frightened me," Rose responded, swallowing.

Maleficent raised one eyebrow. "You act as though that were uncommon."

Rose bit her lip. "That's quite a talent."

Maleficent bowed her head and made a small flourish with her hand. "Why, thank you. It ought to be. I've spent all my life refining it. I hope you will take this the way I intend it: I really wouldn't advise you to wander around outside without my company."

Rose looked down and began to fidget. "I was afraid you might have abandoned me," she said without really considering it. But the words sounded so pathetic when they left her mouth that she instantly tried to backtrack. "I mean, that is…it's not as though I…I don't know where we are. And I don't exactly have a lot of survival skills." Feeble excuses at best. Rose felt a blush creeping onto her cheeks.

She heard Maleficent's footsteps approaching, for there was nothing else to hear. "As I mentioned to you yesterday morning when we arrived, this is the Dragon Country."

"Yes, but how far away from the Kingdom of the East is this? Wait…" Rose looked up, at last distracted from her shame. "Yesterday morning? I slept that long?"

"Well," Rose thought there might be a hint of mirth in Maleficent's tone, "you did have a rather eventful evening. We are quite far away from your kingdom. It would take a great deal of effort to reach this place from that without magic, and I doubt anyone would think to do so."

"Why did you think to come here?" asked Rose.

"I grew up here," Maleficent replied. "And it is rather lovely, isn't it? A bit warm for my taste."

"It is lovely," Rose agreed, and wondered whether she ought to say what discomfited her so. "And…very quiet."

Maleficent nodded, "You've noticed."

"Hard not to," Rose said quietly.

"As its name implies, this land used to be rife with dragons, but it seems that if there are any left, they are making themselves quite scarce."

"Dragons?" Rose repeated with interest. "I've only ever seen dragons in story books. Are they truly such fearsome creatures? And you lived among them as a child?"

A charming half-smile graced Maleficent's lovely features and she approached Rose and offered to help her up. For once, blinded by her curiosity, Rose did not hesitate to touch Maleficent's hand. "They are most certainly fearsome creatures, but they aren't necessarily malicious. Just because they are capable of great destruction does not mean they actively seek to inflict it."

The description seemed fitting of Maleficent in some ways, but Rose supposed that was not exactly accurate…Maleficent had, after all, actively sought to kill her until fairly recently. And then something struck Rose very suddenly. "You're a dragon," she blurted without preamble and then shook her head. "I mean..you can turn into one. So I've heard," she finished lamely.

The almost-smile returned, "You've heard correctly," she said, and offered her arm to Rose. Rose took it and they began walking toward the green hills. "And I'll have you know that if I had known about that damned enchanted Sword of Flora's, I would not have been defeated."

Rose averted her eyes and began to wring her hands nervously. The defeat of which Maleficent was speaking so nonchalantly was to Philip. If Maleficent hadn't been defeated...Rose swallowed the lump forming in her throat. "Then Philip would be dead. And I'd still be cursed."

"And I wouldn't have a sword wound all the way through my chest. What's your point?"

"Why do you want to kill me?" Rose asked the grass at her feet.

A long silence followed. "I don't," Maleficent replied simply.

Rose looked up, eyes wide, but Maleficents expression was as unreadable as ever. "What?"

"If I wanted to kill you," said Maleficent, tilting her head and quirking one eyebrow, "you'd be dead."

Rose suddenly found it very difficult to breathe. She stared at Maleficent, mouth agape, unable to think of any response at all. Maleficent's eyes flickered down and back up. Rose shivered.

"Let's get you a proper dress," said Maleficent, turning towards the castle.

Rose trailed after her, thoughts in a whirl. It seemed unlikely that Maleficent had misunderstood her question, which meant that she had deliberately sidestepped it, or that she had blatantly lied. Talking or even thinking about the issue of her own near-demise made Rose queasy, and it had taken all of her courage to ask Maleficent once...she was not up to pressing the issue just now. Anyway, she rather doubted Maleficent was going to fetch her a proper dress simply to kill her in it, so she was probably safe for the moment.

As they reentered the castle and ascended the dilapidated staircase, Rose racked her brain for another topic of conversation. "Have you always been able to shapeshift?" she wondered.

"Not always," Maleficent replied. "But I was very young. I spent much time with the dragons. It is difficult to explain, but when I looked into their eyes, I felt as though I knew their souls. I saw myself in them, and then I became one of them."

Rose fiddled with the ragged material of her nightgown. "Is that how you always transform?"

"That was the way the ability showed itself in me. After many years of practice, I can transform into almost anything I've seen."

The next question left Rose's mouth before she had time to consider it. "Was your entire family able to shapeshift?"

Maleficent stopped walking at the top of the staircase, just for a second, but then continued as though nothing had happened. "I wouldn't know about my father—it's actually quite probable. My mother and sisters could not, but I've always wondered if my middle sister might have learned, given more time."

Maleficent led her past the room where she had slept the previous night and to another doorway down the hall, which was occupied by a very large and vicious-looking spider. Aurora could clearly see its eight fuzzy legs and its red eyes.

"Pardon us," she said to the spider with a courteous nod of her head. The spider appeared to bow and then pulled itself out of the doorway and completely out of sight. Maleficent ducked her head to avoid the spider's web and Rose stood completely still, dumb-struck by what she had just witnessed. Maleficent watched her from the other side of the web and, after a moment, said, "Come along," as though Rose were a child. Embarrassed, she immediately ducked as far over as she could and walked under the spider's web. Once she was inside, the spider lowered itself back into the web and continued whatever it had been doing previously.

"It's only a tarantula. It isn't going to attack you," Maleficent said, amused, and turned the paralyzed Rose away from the doorframe.

This room was very different from the one in which she had slept. The colour scheme was all orange and red, and hardly faded at all. It was not neatly kept. If one did not notice the thin layer of dust that had settled over everything, one would think that the room's occupant had just left for some sort of big event after frantically searching the room for things she needed.

Maleficent walked over to the chest of drawers and opened one in the middle. She searched around a bit and then drew out a deep red dress and held it out to Rose. "Not your usual style, I'm sure, but this is the least eccentric thing my eldest sister ever owned. You're welcome to try the room where you slept or my old room, but I imagine we were too young when we left to have anything that would fit you."

Rose took the dress. "Thank you," she said, feeling very uncomfortable. This was Maleficent's dead sister's dress. She had slept in Maleficent's other dead sister's bed. How dreadfully tragic. She made very intense eye contact with the floor, for her interactions with Maleficent so far told her very clearly how Maleficent would react to the pity in her eyes.

"I must be off. There's much I'd like to do before the day is out. I'll leave something for you to eat, and I'll be back in a few hours," Maleficent said briskly. She excused herself to the spider once more and ducked out of the room, but then she turned back. "I know you must be very tired of people telling you what to do, and I am not telling you not to go outside, just…" she glanced down and up again, the only subtle sign of her discomfort, "…please do be careful."

And then she was gone, and Rose was left alone with the well-mannered tarantula.

It felt delightful to change out of her dirty nightgown. The red dress fit her loosely and the neckline was far lower than Rose was comfortable wearing. She thought at first that Maleficent's eldest sister must have been taller than Rose, which would make sense, given Maleficent's uncommon tallness, but the waistline fell at her waist and the dress did not drag on the floor, and so Rose decided that this girl must simply have been far curvier than Rose was.

She shifted the dress back on her shoulders in a vain attempt to hide her cleavage as she wandered around the room in search of shoes. She didn't normally mind going barefoot, but the floors of this castle were so dirty and uneven, she feared she might get a bit of stone or something worse stuck in her foot. She found a pair of leather shoes which were only a little too big for her under a pile of clothes on the bed.

"Excuse me again," she said to the spider, who obliged by moving out of her way. She ducked, still feeling very queasy, and exited the room without incident. "Thank you," she said to the spider, who made that bowing movement once more.

Outside of Maleficent's eldest sister's room, Rose realized that she had nowhere to be and no one to find. Maleficent had not forbidden her to leave, or told her not to go too far, or not to speak to strangers. She had only mentioned that it might not be safe outside and asked that Rose be careful.

How delightfully odd.

Rose decided first to explore the other rooms on this floor, now that she knew the numerous spiders occupying the doorways were not mindlessly vicious. She passed one room that was ostensibly empty but for a family of rats, then the room where she had slept, another mostly empty room, and then a room which still had most of its door. She knocked for no particular reason, felt rather silly about it, and then opened the door.

The walls of this room were a grayish burgundy, and the furniture was generally much bigger and more lavish than that of the other two rooms. This room was also messy, as though its occupant had been going somewhere in a hurry.

There were no books anywhere to be found, but there was a very long scroll of paper draped across a desk and rolling down onto the floor with very messy handwriting all over it. Rose leaned in to try to read it, but she couldn't make anything out. She was not a good reader to begin with and the handwriting was really terrible—the words never really seemed to end; they ran into one another, and there were huge blue-black ink blots everywhere, but Rose also got the feeling that the words might be in another language. This woman's clothes—very few in the closet, most on the floor—were similar in style to that of the eldest sister. They were lavish, elaborate, and revealing, all in warm colours.

Rose exited this confusing room and continued down the hall.

The next room she came to which had anything of substance in it was another bedroom, guarded by a very creepy, but comparatively small brown spider. Rose's breath hitched as she peeked past the web into the room, for she knew almost instinctively to whom it belonged.

"Pardon me," she said to the spider, who was hanging directly in front of her face. The spider froze for a moment and then pulled itself up out of Rose's path. She ducked her head slightly and stepped into the room.

Every detail of this room screamed Maleficent. The walls were a faded sea green, as were the bedclothes. There was a table by the bed and a desk on the right, and both were piled high with books of every shape and size. There were no clothes on the floor in this room—indeed, there was no dust and no sign of life aside from the spider in the doorframe. The clothes hanging in the closet were all just as exquisitely made as all of the clothes Rose had seen so far. Rose held one of them out. Though they were clearly made for a figureless child, they were still very long. She tried to imagine a young Maleficent, a gangly, awkward youth, and could not fathom such a thing.

Rose ran her hand over the bedsheets idly. She supposed Maleficent must have slept here a couple of nights by now. She doubted Maleficent would allow herself to sleep late, let alone into the next morning. Though she seemed in general to be all grace and refinement and soft-spokenness, Rose had already twice witnessed how high-strung she really must be to lash out so dramatically at a mere comforting touch.

What had happened here a century ago, Rose wondered? What had become of Maleficent's older sisters, or of her mother, or of her father whom she had never known?

Could it be that Rose and Maleficent had something in common? That they had both lost everything they'd ever known before they'd even truly known it?

Well, good luck getting Maleficent to see that, Rose thought, sitting down on the edge of the bed. She felt sleepy and slightly dizzy again, an after-effect of the Sleeping Curse, and this served as a reminder of the precarious situation she was in. Still, in their brief encounter, Rose was beginning to see in Maleficent, far more than the embodiment of pure evil, an extremely guarded, lonely person who might benefit from talking about the problems which so obviously plagued her past.

Rose very much doubted she was the person for the job of pulling such information out of Maleficent, and yet, she had little else to do. There was no way she was going back to being Princess Aurora anytime soon, not when she had just begun to experience what it was not to have to pretend to be someone else.

Then again, would Maleficent take her back to King Stefan's castle if she asked? Had she truly freed herself by running away with the enemy, or had she merely handed over her chains to a new, and far less predictable, keeper?

Rose's stomach was churning and she picked up a pillow and clutched it against her, willing herself to calm down. She longed for a person who might offer her real solace, but here or back in what was to be her new home, that still wouldn't be possible.

Until recently, Rose had led a very pleasant life, but it had very often been a lonely one, and never more lonely than when Rose began to grow up, to long for new places to explore, new people to meet. More than anything, Rose longed to meet someone who understood even a fraction of the things she felt. Failing that, she would settle for someone who simply listened to her, really listened to the things she said, and did not judge or condescend.

This, she supposed, was how Maleficent had so easily won her over.

Oh, and Maleficent must have known immediately. She must have seen Rose's very soul with one glance, just as she did the dragons and that kind-eyed old woman whose identity she stole. And she must have thought, all this girl needs is a listening ear, even for a few seconds, and she will do whatever I ask.

After this point in the story, however, the three Good Fairies' accusations against Maleficent as 'pure evil' fell short. If Maleficent were pure evil, she would have manipulated Rose into freeing her, and then she would have had no qualms about disposing of Rose as she saw fit.

As it stood, however, she had honoured her promise—a life for a life. Perhaps Maleficent had lied. Perhaps she still wanted Rose dead. It was not unlikely. However, if what she said while still in chains was true, Maleficent did not feel that it was right to kill Rose when Rose had spared her life.

That did not seem like pure evil to Rose. That seemed quite noble.

"Briar Rose."

Rose did not know when she had fallen asleep. She sat up abruptly, embarrassed that she had been caught lying in Maleficent's bed, and she was hit by a wave of groggy dizziness that made her swoon. When her vision cleared, she saw Maleficent standing just inside the doorway, hands folded in front of her body, expression aloof.

"I found something you might like to see," she said. "Do you feel well enough for a walk?"

Rose nodded dumbly and lit from the bed, smoothing the covers and replacing the pillow she had clutched so fiercely in her slumber. Maleficent led the way out of the room, ducking under the spider, who was also enjoying a midday nap, and back down the stairs.

As it turned out, it was no longer midday. The sun hung quite low in the sky, and it made the Dragon Country even more beautiful. Each hill with its mass of wildflowers was bathed in rich golden light, accented by shadow. Instead of walking towards the colourful hills, though, Maleficent led Rose toward the mountains.

"I've had quite a frustrating day," said Malefricent conversationally. "the Kingdom Between Two Rivers has had such a long Golden Age of Prosperity that no one even seems to remember the hard times of the last century."

Rose understood little of what Maleficent was saying. "Golden Age of Prosperity? What does that mean?"

"That is the term for the time that follows after a resident wicked fairy has been defeated. I suppose the Kingdom of the East has not dared declare such a time just yet."

Rose was not certain what to say about that. She swallowed uncomfortably.

"The other thing that troubles me is that they are all so young. I did not expect to acquire any useful information from anyone younger than the middle-aged woman I pretended to be in their presence, but I simply could not find anyone older."

"That is odd," Rose nodded. She felt that most of the people in her own kingdom were rather old, or at least older than she. There were some small children, she supposed, but even Philip was a few years her senior, and he was truly from the Kingdom of the North, not the East. "But if there were such hard times, perhaps it was difficult to live for a long time."

"Perhaps," said Maleficent. "But even in the hardest of times, there are usually survivors. It is possible that there are worse fates than death, but to die is never to know what could have been. One should never underestimate any creature's will to survive."

This comment, so relevant to the recent events of Maleficent's own life, caused Rose's heart physical pain, and she clutched her chest in surprise.

They were now at the edge of the mountains, and Maleficent offered her arm to Rose as they began to walk a winding path into them. Rose too her arm carefully, wary of being violently thrown off again, but nothing happened, and as the path became steeper, Rose was glad of the support. Rose could not tell where the path led, for it seemed that every few steps, the path curved in a new direction.

"What was it like here…a century ago?" Rose dared to ask. Her tone was hushed, and yet in the crushing silence, it seemed to echo off of every mountain, to fill the vast sky above them with the audacity of the question. A century ago. Rose could not even conceive of such a thing.

"What was it like?" Maleficent repeated quietly. "Unpredictable," she said after a moment. "Wild. Loud. If we wanted to leave the castle, we had to be prepared to fight to the death. People—fairies and humans—tried to break in all the time. Wicked fairies enchanted humans to fight one another. Good fairies enchanted humans to fight the wicked fairies. My mother enchanted the dragons to protect us…or only her, I suppose."

"Why—"

"We're almost there," Maleficent said, clearly cutting off her question. Rose narrowly avoided sighing. She was definitely not cut out for getting Maleficent to talk.

Maleficent led Rose around a large mass of rock. On the other side, there was a huge, gaping cavern. It was so dark that Rose could not see in at all, and it was at least five times Rose's height. Maleficent walked toward it, but Rose hesitated.

"What if there's something in there?"

The corners of Maleficent's mouth turned up into a tiny, almost unnoticeable smile, and her eyes twinkled in the warm light of the sunset. Rose's breath hitched and she suddenly found it difficult to swallow. That Maleficent was uncommonly beautiful was often overshadowed by how frightening she was. Yet, in this instant, Rose saw only her beauty, as though she were any other person, and not one capable of such destruction...and the absurdity of the notion that Maleficent could be just any other person caused Rose to shiver.

Rose glanced over at the cave nervously. She felt Maleficent's hand on the middle of her back and a chill shot up her spine. She grasped Maleficent's arm tightly for support as Maleficent led her into the overwhelming darkness.

Rose could not see anything, and this, unfortunately, made her even more acutely aware of Maleficent's presence next to her. She could feel the subtle warmth radiating off of her body, the gentle touch of each long, elegant finger on her back, the lean muscle of the arm Rose was grasping for dear life. She could hear Maleficent's quiet, slow breathing and she could feel it against the top of her head. Maleficent could kill her, right now, she reminded herself. Her hands began to shake, but the only thing there was for her to cling to was the very person who engendered her fear.

Then, suddenly, Rose heard something else, a faint rustling which caused her stomach to twist. Perhaps it was an entire family of malicious spiders, or a hundred rats, or bats, even. She had no way of knowing what kind of creatures lived in this country.

She felt just the faintest wisp of warm breath right next to her ear. "It's all right," Maleficent murmured, her low, resonant voice flooding Rose's very heart.

_Touch the spindle_, murmured the same voice, and despite the terror that gripped her heart, Rose was powerless to disobey. At that moment, Rose would have followed her anywhere, done anything that voice told her to, trusted Maleficent with her life.

Maleficent drew herself up to her full height, thereby distancing herself from Rose's ear, and then she made a small clicking noise. The rustling stopped and was replaced by small, scurrying footsteps.

The creature that emerged from nowhere in the darkness had glowing greenish-yellow eyes which illuminated enough of its face for Rose to see that it was scaly and had some sort of snout. When it blinked, it disappeared completely.

"You're going to have to come around, I think," said Maleficent, and just as Rose was going to ask what she meant, the scurrying footsteps picked back up and the creature moved past Maleficent to stand in the light coming from the entrance to the cave.

The dragon was tiny, the size of a small dog or a large rabbit. It looked exactly as dragons looked in storybooks—a round body over short legs with devastatingly sharp claws, a long neck, a long, muscular tail, and a reptilian head—but it was so small! Its scales were dark green and it had two tiny little wings which had a faint purple tint. The baby dragon stretched out its neck and held its head high, aloof and haughty as Maleficent, the dragon in disguise. It took a deep, luxurious breath, reared its head back, and blew out a steady stream of fire which threw colourful sparks and filled the entire cave with warmth and light.

"He's showing off for you," said Maleficent softly.

Rose could not breathe. She could not move, and yet she felt a gentle hand on her back guiding her forward on legs which could barely hold her upright. She glanced up to Maleficent, utterly at a loss. Maleficent, whose face was masked in shadow, nodded in what Rose took to be an encouraging manner, and Rose dared to step forward of her own volition.

The dragon turned its head to face her, as if to say, _how impressive am I?_ and suddenly Rose felt a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. She knelt down so that she was on eye level with the dragon and reached out her hand. "May I?" she asked, her voice breaking.

The dragon eyed her with a tilt of his head, and Rose was stricken by the intensity of those luminous eyes. Finally he seemed to decide in her favour, however, for he took a few steps toward her and bowed his head beneath her hand.

She touched the scales on the top of his head reverently. She could not possibly have imagined before now what scales would feel like. She examined the small ridge at the top of his head which protected the bones in his long neck. She ran her hand down his neck and felt the powerful muscles shift slightly as he kept his eyes trained on her. Such a small, youthful creature, and yet he was so distrustful. How old must he be? What horrors must he have known? Did he have a family?

Rose retracted her hand at this thought and brought it to her chest. "Thank you," she said softly, and the dragon retreated to Maleficent's side.

Rose felt a warm presence beside her on the cold stone floor and turned to see Maleficent kneeling beside her. "As far as he knows, he is the last of his kind here."

Rose could think of nothing to say, nothing to ask.

"There used to be hundreds—perhaps thousands of them," Maleficent continued, and Rose noted that her voice, that voice which could bend a soul to its will, sounded strangely hollow. Rose squinted in the dim light and found that Maleficent was not even looking at her. She was looking at the entrance to the cave, at the fast-fading light, at nothing.

"All gone. And it must have been very recent. He barely remembers an explosion or a storm of some sort, and that the elders became ill, and then the other children…" Maleficent sighed. "Dragons have such long lives. I expected that they were only in hiding, that once I found them I might…"

Rose's first impulse was to reach out and touch Maleficent's shoulder, but she knew that would not end well for her. She sat still and waited, hoping that Maleficent would continue to speak if Rose remained quiet.

"I feel…" Maleficent breathed in slowly. "I feel alone. Empty." She was silent for another moment, and then added, "I feel as though a large part of me is missing."

_We have that in common_, Rose wanted to say, and yet she supposed she didn't know the half of it. She hadn't really lost her family or her childhood, after all...not irrevocably. All of the people she loved and cared for were still alive.

They were probably searching for her, Rose thought with a pang of guilt. They were probably worried about her. They probably thought she'd been kidnapped...perhaps killed, as Rose, herself, feared.

Rose shook her head and pushed these thoughts away the best she could, and she did not try to tell Maleficent that they were one and the same, because of course they weren't. She crawled around so that she was face to face with Maleficent, looking her directly in those black eyes, now glazed over with an unspeakable sadness. Rose raised both of her hands so that Maleficent could clearly see them and placed them on either side of Maleficent's face. Maleficent's eyes widened slightly, but she did not lash out or pull away.

She considered telling Maleficent that she wasn't alone, not anymore, but this, too, fell short in her mind. These words would mean nothing to Maleficent. Maleficent was alone. She had been for a very long time—perhaps for a century, several times Rose's own lifetime. One stupid, selfish little girl sitting here stupidly with her arms outstretched wasn't going to change that.

Rose was stricken by the desire to embrace the untouchable woman kneeling before her, to curl up next to her until she felt the warmth, even if it took years. But of course that was no way to go about anything. This woman she saw before her, whom no one believed to be capable of love, whose eyes shone with the faintest glimmer of fear at Rose's touch—this woman would not understand such an action.

Maleficent would hate Rose's pity. She would not understand her affection. She would lash out against her attempts to comfort. And why shouldn't she? Who was Rose to her? Perhaps she was barely restraining herself from snapping Rose's neck right on the spot. This thought caused Rose to withdraw her hands as she continued to struggle for something to say.

Rose heard the faint rustling of the young dragon a small distance away from them as he settled in for the night. She thought of what Maleficent had said—that as a young child, she had looked into the eyes of such a creature and known its soul. "He's…magnificent," she whispered.

If Rose weren't a breath away from Maleficent, she would not have seen her brow furrow, her eyes gloss over with confusion for an instant, for the instant passed as quickly as it had come, and Maleficent gave her a small, cautious smile. "I thought you'd like him."

"We'll fix it," said Rose firmly, hoping Maleficent would understand what she could not put into words. "We've got to fix it." She'd gotten herself into this mess, and despite the guilt beginning to nag at the back of her mind, she would not and could not go back. Her problems were not solvable at the moment. What she could do was to try to help Maleficent, to try to understand her in some small way. Perhaps if she could manage this, she would feel less like a frightened child and more like...well, if not a friend, then an ally.

And somehow she felt that Maleficent did understand, for there was no confusion in her eyes. She looked as though there was much she would like to say, but she decided instead upon a curt nod. "Yes," she agreed simply.

Rose smiled and reached out her arms once more. A foolish move, perhaps, but Rose felt oddly certain that the woman kneeling before her was not the same one who wished her harm. Still moving painstakingly slowly, Rose settled herself against Maleficent's stiff, angular frame and waited—most probably to be removed, be it politely or with the harsh sting of magic.

Rose waited for quite some time. At last, Maleficent's arms moved. Rose did not move, for she wanted to savour this closeness for as long as it would last. It felt as though it had been forever since she had been so close to anyone, and it felt like a rare and delightful treat to be allowed so close to Maleficent at all.

Stiff arms placed themselves cautiously around Rose's shoulders in an embrace which was almost awkward. Perhaps Maleficent longed for comfort as much as Rose did. Perhaps they had more in common than she thought. Rose bit her lip, trying at once to suppress a foolish grin and the urge to throw her arms about Maleficent from sheer joy at this minor victory. Instead, she placed her arms equally carefully around Maleficent's waist, resettled herself so that she was comfortable, and then stayed as still as she could as the last rays of light disappeared and the cave faded into complete darkness.

The last thing she heard was the slow, steady breathing of sleep, and she could not be certain whether it was the young dragon or the wicked fairy.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Reworked! Not too, too much different in this chapter, just some little things about Rose and Maleficent's interactions. Your readership and feedback are, as always, much appreciated!

* * *

**Chapter 4 – The Unknown**

Queen Leah was devastated.

She knew very well why she felt so hopeless. For a few short weeks, she had dared to believe that everything would be all right, that everything had finally worked out, and that the whole affair was over.

She should have known better than to dream. She had been warned all her life not to deal with magical creatures. They weren't human—they did not play by the same rules that humans did. They did not show mercy as humans did. They did not forget, and, unlike most humans, they had the means to exact terrible revenge when their demands were not met.

And yet, at the time, it had been the only option.

Stefan was a kind man. Too kind. In another lifetime, Leah would have broken his heart. But in this life, where she had backed herself into so many corners and tried so hard to claw her way out, Stefan had taken her in as his wife. She was eternally in his debt, for she knew what would have awaited her had she remained in her own kingdom. She would have died alone, a disgrace to her family. No man would have taken her for any noble reason, even despite her legendary beauty. She had made too many mistakes. She would not have been given another chance.

The marriage should have been a favour to both of them. Leah could start anew with almost no chance of her shameful secret getting out, and Stefan could marry a woman of noble blood who was close to his own age and who could still bear children.

Good, gentle Stefan blamed himself. She saw the look in his eyes, the way they slowly lost their shine, the way his posture gradually sagged and slumped. One night, shortly after the two year anniversary of their marriage, as they lay together in the dark, Leah heard Stefan begin to speak softly. "I am so sorry, my Leah," he said. "I have failed you as a husband. I have failed as a man. You are so healthy and so beautiful...and I am defective. I cannot give you a child. I cannot give our kingdom an heir to the throne."

Leah began to weep and clasped a hand over her mouth, trying desperately to remain silent. His words caused her heart to ache, for she knew that it could not be his fault. She was certain that he could give any other woman a child with no trouble. The worst of it was that if he were any other man, he would have already done so. There were a fair amount of good-looking common girls working in the castle. She had even seen a pretty blonde tending the gardens the other day. Stefan's good friend King Hubert of the North would certainly not have waited for two years to call upon that blonde for assistance in this matter.

Stefan needed an heir. There were so few young people in the Kingdom of the East as it was. Stefan was, himself, relatively young, but it wouldn't do to have a child much later than now. Aside from that, what if something happened to Stefan? Leah was not fit to rule at all. One of Stefan's advisors would take over, or another kingdom would take over, or…heaven knew what would happen.

Leah felt Stefan's fingers stroking her hair, just the little bit at the temple, and her quiet weeping turned into wracking sobs that she could not contain. She curled up into a ball and all but threw herself at Stefan, who let out a small noise of surprise and obligingly wrapped his arms around her. "Shhh," he whispered into her hair. "You mustn't cry, my wife. I didn't mean to upset you. It is my shortcoming, not yours."

Leah wrapped her arms around Stefan's bare chest and squeezed him tightly, unable to control her sobs enough to speak the words she knew she must.

When she was introduced to Stefan a little over two years before, she had been ever so slightly repulsed by him. He wasn't particularly attractive—he had a plain face which he attempted to disguise with a lot of facial hair. Their wedding night had been awkward at best, and she had for some time avoided having marital relations with him when possible.

It wasn't as though Stefan ever forced himself upon her. He mostly just awkwardly made it clear that he was interested if she was, and more often than not she felt it would be rude to decline. What Stefan lacked in looks, he made up in goodness, honour, and kindness. Stefan was a man of strong morals. He believed strongly in the power of truth. He believed that good would always triumph over evil. Stefan was unfailingly gentlemanly and kind to Leah, and Leah seldom saw a reason to turn him away simply because she did not want him.

She had wanted all of those men in her kingdom and what had that gotten her?

One day, while they were speaking, Leah began to examine his eyes. They were nice—perhaps the most attractive thing about him. They were bright blue and they reflected all of the things he believed in. They were kind and strong and good. Leah did not remember what he had been talking about. She did not remember the specific day, what he had been wearing, or what the weather was like outside. But after that day, Leah had begun to love Stefan, and some time after she began to love him, she began to feel some desire for him. It was nothing like what she had felt before. It did not consume her thoughts or set her body on fire. It was borne of a great trust and respect for him that she desired closeness with him. And she decided that this feeling was in many ways more valuable than the other.

Now their nakedness did not feel awkward or disgusting to her anymore. She felt close to him, as close as she could be, given her long list of lies.

"Do you know Madeleine?" she asked, attempting to sound casual.

She felt Stefan's head shift to look down at her, "The little blonde maid? That Madeleine?"

"Yes, her," Leah swallowed.

"Why?"

_Because you need an heir and I cannot give you one. Because it isn't your fault. Because I am not who you think I am. Because you are so good. You are too good for me._

"She's a quiet, lonely girl," whispered Leah. "No one would ever know."

Stefan pulled Leah up to face him, "Leah," he said, surprised. "How could you ever think I would betray you in such a way?"

Tears began streaming anew over Leah's nose and down her left cheek. She shifted so that she could put her hands on either side of Stefan's face, and she told him something she had never dared to tell him before. "Oh, Stefan, I love you so, so very much."

The next day, Leah had awoken feeling even more miserable than before. She had moped about the castle all morning long, unable to consider what Stefan had obviously accepted—they they would not have an heir to the throne.

Around noon, though, word had arrived that a band of criminals who had been terrorizing Hubert's kingdom had finally been captured, and that they were claiming that Mistress Maleficent, the wicked fairy who resided in the Forbidden Mountains about a day's ride away, had influenced their misdeeds. Maleficent had been summoned to the Kingdom of the North for questioning and had denied any involvement.

What the report had probably neglected to mention was that, upon being summoned, Maleficent had most likely piddled about her home doing whatever it was she did for a few minutes, dusted off her hands, snapped her fingers and appeared right in Hubert's sitting room accompanied by a puff of green smoke. She had probably brandished her staff while asking what the allegations against her could possibly be and waved her hand dismissively over it, conjuring the faintest aura of magic as she denied any involvement in such matters. She also probably politely expressed her shock at being accused of such a thing.

Leah knew this without ever having laid eyes on Maleficent, for Stefan had told her that this was the way every meeting with the wicked fairy went. She was exceedingly terrifying and also exceedingly polite, which only added to the general feeling of unease she engendered. Maleficent was very powerful and very smart. All the good fairies in the land couldn't defeat her, and everyone knew it. Maleficent made it very clear that she could do anything if she wanted to.

The most terrifying thing about her, though, was that she did not seem to want to do anything.

Few people had ever truly laid eyes upon her. If she did not keep to herself in the Forbidden Mountain, then she did a very good job of hiding. There were rumours that she was a shapeshifter and could assume any form, but this had not been expressly proven at the time (and indeed would not be confirmed until about seventeen years later). There were endless rumours that she was the cause of all the evil in the land, but even when a special committee of officers accompanied by a small army called on her simply to monitor her activity, she was invariably reported to be at home and engaging in some innocuous activity such as reading a book.

And this was why she haunted the nightmares of every person in the land. She was so powerful that she did not need to prove her power. She simply put on an act of spooking people, let the rumours fly, and then went about her merry way. Beware the sleeping dragon, as the saying went.

One of the rumours was that Maleficent could do anything with her magic. And on this particular day, Leah began to wonder if Maleficent's services could be bought.

What followed was a story anyone could guess. When the witch gives you instructions, you follow them to the letter, or else you end up with a tragedy on your hands.

But it wasn't all that simple. How does one explain to one's husband, _oh, darling, we simply must invite the scourge of the three kingdoms_?

Why did Maleficent even want to be invited to the child's christening? Was she really that lonely? She must have intended to curse the child from the start, invitation or no. At least, that was what Leah had tried to convince herself for about seventeen years.

Leah had tried. She and Stefan had been called in to approve every single person on the guest list, which was the entire kingdom, most of Hubert's, and the important people from Gavin's kingdom in the West, from whence Leah hailed. And after the man writing the list had read every last name, Leah had asked quietly, "What about Mistress Maleficent?"

The man's jaw had dropped. Stefan's would have, too, were he not so well-versed in etiquette. "Leah, why would you say such a thing?"

"I…" she tried to think of something reasonable to say "I only think…well, we've invited everyone in the kingdom, and everyone from Hubert's kingdom, and even some people from Gavin's kingdom. And…and you cannot deny that Maleficent is a very…powerful person. It would be quite a slight simply not to invite her."

"We most certainly can deny that Maleficent has any power at all. The only reason she holds any power is because we allow her to. As far as I can tell, she has never done anything to demonstrate that power."

"But—but wouldn't not inviting her to such an important event only serve to make her angry? She might do something terrible."

Stefan shook his head firmly, "Leah, as I have just said, my opinion is that she does not actually have the capability to do anything truly terrible. I will not allow that fiend near our child. I will not allow her to ruin our happy day."

Leah even went so far as to ask that Stefan consult the three good fairies who advised him, Mistresses Flora, Fauna, and Merryweather. Surely they would have some insight into the true nature of Maleficent's power—that is to say, they would validate her fears. But the fairies agreed with Stefan. Maleficent should not be allowed near the child. They understood—or thought they understood—how precious baby Aurora was to Stefan and Leah. As far as they knew, Aurora was a miracle from God, not from the Devil, herself.

But Leah had trusted the judgement of the three good fairies. They were centuries old and had never steered Stefan wrong before. Leah would have trusted them with her life. She did trust them with the life of her daughter. If they said that taking Aurora and hiding her in the forest was the only way to keep her safe from Maleficent, then it was the only way.

Everything seemed to have gone according to plan. Aurora had come down the stairs on Philip's arm just as planned. Every eye in the room had turned to her to witness her ethereal beauty for the first time. Leah had loved her just as though she had known her for sixteen years. Aurora did not seem like a perfect stranger to Leah. Leah felt her presence, as though Aurora brought back with her a piece of Leah which had been missing all those years. And she had thought perhaps Aurora understood it, too, for Aurora had embraced her as though she knew.

Over the next few days, though, everything had begun to come apart.

Aurora was quiet. Soft-spoken. She was polite, certainly, and kind, but she did not always seem to know what was going on around her. She sometimes did not understand what was said to her, or drifted away from the material world mid-sentence.

People began to whisper and Leah became concerned. But the good fairies assured her that Aurora was only recovering from a bout with very powerful dark magic. She needed her rest. She could not have too many visitors. She must recover. And as she always did, Leah took them at their word.

As the days went by, Leah noticed that when Aurora was paying attention, which was not very often, she had a sort of pained expression. She looked uncomfortable, unhappy. Leah wanted to reach out to her. She wanted to know what her daughter's life had been like. She wanted to know what the past few days had been like for her. But when Leah expressed these wishes to Stefan, he replied, "I know, my love, and I do, too. But the Good Fairies insist that Aurora cannot have too many visitors. Leave her to Philip for awhile longer. He's a fine boy. I'm certain that he has talked to her about her life and her time here."

Leah was not certain at all. Philip was Hubert's son, and Hubert…Hubert was not as good of a man as Stefan was, to say the least, especially where women were concerned. But Hubert was Stefan's best and only friend. Stefan would hear no ill of him.

Leah wished she had spoken ill of Hubert. What did it matter now? Aurora was gone. And this time, she was not safe in the care of the good fairies. She had been taken captive by Maleficent. As Leah understood it, Maleficent had, bound and chained and with limited magic, manipulated Aurora into freeing her. And then she had disappeared, taking Leah's daughter with her.

What good was anything now? What were the last sixteen years of anguish? Had Aurora really been safe at all? Was Aurora doomed to a life of secrecy, of constantly being chased and imprisoned? Did Aurora even know? Did she understand why all of this was happening? Had Maleficent told Aurora Leah's shameful secret? Did Aurora believe her?

Or had Maleficent already killed Aurora as she had planned to do all along?

Not knowing was agonizing.

* * *

If Briar Rose had hoped she might have made some sort of a breakthrough where Maleficent was concerned, she would have been sorely mistaken.

On the contrary, she seemed to have taken a step back. Rose didn't think Maleficent could be any more stiff or formal, but on the morning after what Rose had believed to be a beautiful moment of connection and understanding, Maleficent had somehow managed it. She barely spoke at all, and though she did not go so far as to address Rose as Princess Aurora, she settled upon calling her Your Highness if she called her anything at all.

The next day and on all of the days following, she began leaving before Rose awoke and returning after nightfall, obviously hoping to find Rose asleep. Once she caught on, Rose did not know what to make of this. Was Maleficent truly avoiding her? At worst, Rose had expected to be thrown out into the wild unknown for her actions. At best, she'd dared to hope for grudging tolerance. This was baffling.

Loneliness quickly consumed her. After Maleficent's words regarding the questionable safety of the outside world, Rose hesitated to disobey, and she was absolutely certain she'd never find her way back to the cave where the baby dragon lived. Rose began to wait up for Maleficent. To pass the time, she selected the least threatening book she could find and spent her evenings stumbling over the unfamiliar words—many of which were gibberish magic spells she could never hope to understand.

Maleficent always entered through the kitchen door, which did not make the ear-splitting screech of the front door. Upon seeing Rose, she always said some variation of, "It's rather late. Don't you need your rest?" No comment on the book Rose was attempting to read, no information about her day, and her tone was cold. She did not want to talk.

It made Rose's heart ache, so much that she did not have the wherewithal to offer up any conversation in response. She simply nodded her agreement, clutched her book to her chest, and went upstairs to bed. Apparently there was no pleasing Rose. Would she truly prefer Maleficent's imminently dangerous and terrifying volatile to her innocuous absence?

Some time passed in this way. Since she had so much time to do so, Rose finally found a book she could actually read. She had overlooked it at first because the title was so long and because she didn't know one of the words in it: _The Biography of Mistress Acacia of the Kingdom by the Sea_, written by Mistress Kinsale of the Kingdom of Hill and Valley. Rose supposed that a biography must simply be a story of a person's life, or in this case, a wicked fairy's life, for that seemed to be the only purpose of this book.

Acacia was born to Mistress Cordelia, who, legend has it, was born from the sea when the world began. The author noted that that was unlikely, but that she could not find any records to disprove the legend. Mistress Cordelia wanted the people of the Kingdom by the Sea to believe in the legend, and so it was more likely than not that she had destroyed any evidence of her parents.

At any rate, Mistress Cordelia had lived for a very long time. She had scores of children scattered about the earth, most of whom died rather young. Acacia was her last child, for only a few years after she was born, a band of good fairies led by Mistress Sara enchanted all the beasts of the field and forest to rise up against Cordelia.

Cordelia was defeated, but at a great cost—the battle had killed almost all of the animals in the kingdom. The author noted that no one blamed the good fairies for this misfortune.

When Rose grew weary of reading the story, she read about the author, Mistress Kinsale. Mistress Kinsale was a wicked fairy, herself, who resided in the Land of Hill and Valley. Her mother was Mistress Dalia, and she had—these were the actual words—"no sisters, only four brothers." Rose found that bit to be very odd.

Rose had lost track of the days, but some time must have passed, for she actually began to enjoy reading. She was reading about how, after a few years had passed, "for humans are very forgetful in their transience," whatever that meant, the people of the Hill and Valley kingdoms had begun to blame Acacia for their barren lands. She did not quite understand this bit—Acacia was still living in her mother's home, but she had not taken the title and responsibilities of Mistress of Evil…something…Rose had so many questions she would like to ask Maleficent.

"Good evening, Briar Rose," said Maleficent, but Rose was distracted by her book.

"What does transience mean?"

After perhaps a few minutes passed without response, Rose looked up. Maleficent stood closer to her than she had in over a week, which was still halfway across the room. Her hands were folded in front of her atop what appeared to be a staff with some sort of glass ball on the top of it.

"Something that is transient is brief, fleeting. It does not last."

Rose felt uncomfortable. Awkward. She wanted to go up to bed and hide under the covers. She had spent all of this time alone and in silence, and she had, in her desperation for company, managed to forget how intimidating Maleficent was. What was more, she had forgotten how unreadable her expression was, how intense her eyes… But hiding would be the move of a cowardly child. Perhaps Rose had lost ground with Maleficent, but if that was the case, she must simply start all over again.

She decided to focus on the book, since she was too cowardly to make real conversation. "'Humans are forgetful in their transience.' Humans are brief and fleeting and don't last and so they are forgetful? I still don't understand."

"Is that Mistress Acacia?" Maleficent asked, taking a step forward. Rose nodded. "I remember being fond of that phrase. The humans forgot all about the great war between Mistress Cordelia and Mistress Sara's enchanted animals and they blamed Acacia for their food shortage, though she was only a young girl who had barely even learned to use her magic."

"Right, I understood that bit."

"But?"

"But…how could everyone have forgotten?"

"To the humans, it must have seemed like a very long time passed. Almost three decades. The lifetime of a human seems very short to a wicked fairy—humans are transient."

"Oh," Rose breathed as she considered this.

"It's an interesting phrase—quite diplomatic. Many wicked fairies villainize humans in their writing. They're always very careful about how they portray good fairies, but humans are usually portrayed as stupid, cruel, brutish creatures. Mistress Kinsale is a fascinating woman. Perhaps in part because she had no sisters."

"I meant to ask about that, as well," said Rose. She consciously tried to relax her shoulders as she spoke—it appeared that Maleficent was finally willing to talk to her again. Perhaps they could continue as though nothing had happened. "The way it's written, it's as though brothers are…I don't know…unimportant. As though having no sisters is unusual…maybe bad."

Maleficent surprised her by coming to sit down in the chair across from her sofa. She leaned her staff against the chair as she spoke. "One key difference between humans and fairies is that men are not regarded as the pillars of society. They aren't scorned or treated as second-class citizens, but they are nomadic creatures and rarely stay in one place for very long. As such, they rarely hold dominion over anything, keep records of themselves or their travels, et cetera. Do you follow?"

Rose nodded. "But then how do all of these wicked fairies have so many siblings? Are they all-" she gasped as the thought occurred to her and whispered it, for she didn't dare to say such a thing aloud. "…are they all of different fathers?"

Maleficent chuckled and her features brightened, "That would make sense, wouldn't it? Obviously people like Mistress Cordelia had many men in their lives, but most wicked fairies can't be bothered. They mate when a male catches their fancy and the male often stays around for a few years. Inevitably, though, he feels the need to move on, and the woman is left to raise however many children they've had in their time together."

"He stays around? I thought you said you never knew your father."

"I was the youngest. My oldest sister remembered him vaguely, but he left before I was born."

"And you never met him? Never wanted to meet him? Surely your mother could have—"

"That was not an option," said Maleficent sharply. Rose flinched and Maleficent's eyes softened. "My apologies—your situation slipped my mind. Family ties in the world of fairies are…not what they are in the human world, to say the least."

"My parents haven't said two words to me," said Rose softly. The reasons for this weren't entirely clear to her. She thought they might have been instructed to leave her to her rest, because of the Sleeping Curse, but another part of her thought they avoided her because they felt uncomfortable talking to her.

Maleficent was silent for some time, and Rose looked down at her hands.

"What would you have me say?"

Rose looked up to see Maleficent gazing at her quizzically, a hint of a challenge in her eyes. Rose swallowed. "The truth," she said, and then as a bitter afterthought, "Unless you think me too weak to handle it."

Maleficent lifted her chin ever so slightly. "The truth is that I'm certain they love you in their way. They are very misguided people."

"The good fairies say that you don't understand love and are incapable of feeling it."

Rose had honestly expected Maleficent to lash out. She was feeling very uncomfortable and upset—it was as though everything she had ever known was suddenly being proven untrue. She wanted a fight. She wanted to yell. She wanted to be angry, or anything except vague and uneasy.

Instead, Maleficent had to bite back a smile. "Charming," she said, and Rose let out a little giggle which surprised her. Maleficent tilted her head, studying Rose. "They think very highly of me, you know."

Rose's smile surprised her, and she found it surprisingly easy to push away her troubling thoughts. When Maleficent returned that smile with a small, subtle smile of her own, a warm feeling flooded through Rose's veins and she shivered. She wanted to embrace Maleficent for how blissfully happy that smile made her, and she barely restrained herself from doing just that.

She decided instead to press her advantage and keep the light-hearted conversation going. "So, has a man ever 'caught your fancy'?"

Maleficent chuckled and looked down, "No."

Rose pouted and pressed on playfully, "Really? Never? Not one?"

Maleficent looked up, still smiling, but there was something very serious shining in her eyes. "Not one."

Rose got the sense that there was something about this conversation she did not understand, and so she considered for a moment how to continue. "Well, men must have fancied you, then."

Maleficent laughed openly and the action seemed to surprise her. "Oh, yes, I have to beat them off with a stick. What is it your prince likes to call me best? _It_? _That Thing_? _Beast_? _Monster_? I assure you he isn't the only one who refers to me as such."

Rose flinched involuntarily at the mention of Philip. "Please tell me you don't take that nonsense seriously."

Maleficent raised an eyebrow. "Don't you?"

"Philip refuses to believe a woman could have bested and captured him, so he refuses to refer to you as a woman. At least, that's my theory."

Maleficent nodded, "An interesting theory."

Encouraged by Maleficent's approval, Rose nodded and continued speaking, "He'd have to be mad to actually think you a hideous beast. You're the most beautiful person I've ever seen." Realizing what she had just said, Rose suddenly found a spot on the floor very interesting as she felt heat rising on her cheeks. Maleficent did not respond, and after some time, Rose dared to peek up at her. Her head was tilted slightly to one side and both eyebrows were raised slightly. This quizzical, studious expression, in Rose's opinion, made her look particularly beautiful. "It's quite…quite overwhelming, actually," Rose murmured as an afterthought.

"Why, thank you, Briar Rose," said Maleficent stoically. "Coming from the Princess Aurora, _who walks with springtime wherever she goes_, I take that as quite a compliment."

If it were possible, Rose's blush deepened. "Are you mocking me?"

"Of course not. It was part of Flora's gift incantation. I believe it went 'One gift, beauty rare; gold of sunshine in her hair; lips that shame the red, red rose; she'll walk with springtime wherever she goes.'"

"Gift incantation?"

"When a prince or princess is born, all the fairies in the land may bestow a gift upon the royal child. Flora's was beauty, Fauna's was song, and Merryweather's was a rather clumsy attempt to circumvent a certain curse of which I'm sure you're aware."

Rose's stomach began to twist as she considered this, and she avoided the obvious question. "What if Flora hadn't given me the gift of beauty? What would I look like?"

"Much the same, I'm sure. Queen Leah was very pretty in her youth and you share most of her features. What Flora gave you was a certain magical quality about your beauty which draws people to you. A rather useful quality for a royal. If you were of a mind, you could learn to use that magic to ensnare the heart of anyone you pleased. I daresay Philip has used his handsomeness to that effect."

Rose's eyes widened. "Did he use it on me?"

Maleficent nodded, "Most likely. But after a point it would become useless on you as you share the same magic. It's doubtful you were under the influence for very long."

Rose sat in stunned silence for a moment, but then it occurred to her that it might be more useful for her to speak her mind to Maleficent. Where, in another life, speaking her thoughts would most likely get her in trouble, Maleficent did not seem to care if she said or thought wildly inappropriate things, and, when it struck her fancy, she had very helpful information to offer. "I feel as though my entire existence has been warped by magic. I feel as though without it I would have had a completely different life. I would not have had all of this heartache."

Maleficent nodded, "Perhaps. But you cannot simply wish away the magic in the world."

"I wish I could," Rose replied, frowning. "I wish it all away. I wish away my fake aunts and the house in the cottage and all those sixteen years of lies, lies, lies. I wish away my parents who abandoned me to the care of strangers. I wish away my royalty. I wish away my beauty and my voice and Merryweather's spell and your curse. I wish to lead a normal life as a normal, simple, peasant girl. There is nothing extraordinary about me that was not given to me by magic, and so I wish it all away."

Maleficent was silent for some time, and Rose faintly heard the rustling of her dress. She supposed Maleficent was abandoning her again. She didn't blame her. Maleficent wasn't obligated to deal with Rose's unnecessary outbursts of nonsense.

To her surprise, however, Maleficent sat next to her on the sofa. She put a hand lightly on Rose's shoulder—so lightly that she barely felt it, so lightly that it gave her chills. "You must know that isn't true."

Rose, who had curled herself into a ball, lifted her head and met Maleficent's eyes in a challenge. "Name one thing."

"You are extraordinarily kind. No fairy gifted you with your kind heart."

Rose scoffed and looked away. "What good has that ever done me?"

Maleficent chuckled mirthlessly and withdrew her hand. "Fair point. It did me quite a bit of good, though."

Rose whipped her head back up to look at Maleficent and a wave of intense relief washed over her. She gaped at Maleficent for several seconds and all she could think was _You could have died_. _They could have killed you. No magic would mean no you._

What would her life have become if she had not saved Maleficent from her fate? She felt she would have driven herself mad, trying desperately to cling to a life everyone seemed to want to forget. It was not lost on Rose that this other life was caused by Maleficent's curse, and yet it was all Rose had ever known. Maleficent was the reason that Rose was Rose. Twisted though it was, Rose wanted to cling to Maleficent just as desperately as she wanted to cling to the life Maleficent had made for her.

"You're also incredibly brave," Maleficent said quietly, apparently politely ignoring her odd expression. "Personally I would never put my life in the hands of someone like me."

"I'm very glad you're here," Rose said without preamble. It was as close as she could come to making any sense without throwing her arms around Maleficent and most likely getting herself thrown across the room.

Maleficent glanced uncomfortably around at nothing. She did not understand. And Rose could not explain. Finally she said, "It's very late."

Rose reached out impulsively and grasped Maleficent's arm. Maleficent's eyes lit up with panic, but Rose tried to ignore it. "Please promise you'll be here when I awaken."

Maleficent was staring so intently at Rose's hand that she finally had to remove it. Maleficent immediately and visibly relaxed. "As you wish," she said quietly.

Rose nodded and stood, clutching her book to her chest as she quickly made her exit.

"Sweet dreams, Briar Rose," said Maleficent softly, stopping her in her tracks.

Briar Rose dared to look back at Maleficent, who was standing the way she had when she entered, hands folded atop her staff. Her face, though, held the same tiny smile she had revealed earlier. Rose's heart leapt and she smiled back. "Sweet dreams," she replied and then quickly continued her journey up the stairs.

When Rose was safely hidden under the covers in a room that belonged to someone else's ghost, she felt completely overwhelmed with all that she had learned. She wanted to consider each piece of information one by one, make note of questions she still had, things she was not certain she believed, things that made sense and things that did not…but she was far too tired for such a venture and almost immediately succumbed to a deep, dreamless sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **Reworked! This chapter changed a LOT, but it probably won't affect your understanding of the rest of the story if you don't choose to reread. I also might want to retitle it at some point—any thoughts? It's also a lot longer—surprise! And I'm sorry! As always, your readership and feedback are much appreciated!

* * *

**Chapter 5 – The Journey**

The next morning when Briar Rose awoke, she quickly donned a borrowed dress—this, too, was a deep red, but her other options were the far less flattering shades of orange and yellow—and made a sweep of the castle in search of Maleficent, to see if she had made good on her promise. Sure enough, she found Maleficent in her childhood room, sitting at her desk, engaged in one of the scores of books piled there.

"Good morning," said Rose quietly.

Maleficent looked up quickly, but that was the only evidence of her surprise. Her face was cool and collected as usual. "Good morning, Briar Rose. Did you sleep well?"

Rose nodded. "Yes, thank you. What are you reading?"

"Good fairy drivel," Maleficent said, waving her hand dismissively at the offending book.

"What does that mean?"

Maleficent closed the book and showed her the cover. It was called _The Big Book of Spells, Volume IV_. "The Big Book of Spells—it sounds like a children's book. Utter nonsense."

"Then why are you reading it?" Rose asked, approaching to examine the book further. Maleficent obliged by handing it to her.

"One of your good fairies cast a spell I'd like to undo," Maleficent said.

That made little sense. "What spell?"

Maleficent tilted her head ever so slightly. "I have a raven companion named Diablo. Someone turned him into stone." She paused, as if waiting for Rose to say something in response, but when she said nothing, Maleficent continued. "I suspect Merryweather. Flora's specialties are bubbles and flowers and Fauna wouldn't hurt a fly."

Rose could not quite comprehend this information for a moment. She stared blankly at Maleficent, who, with a small expression of confusion, returned to her reading. Finally Rose managed to voice the indistinguishable words whirling around in her head. "I thought Good Fairies couldn't harm anyone or anything."

"The thing about rules," said Maleficent without turning around, "is that there is always a way around them." She glanced at Rose over her shoulder. "But then, a good, law abiding citizen such as yourself wouldn't know anything about that."

Rose sensed that this was supposed to be a joke, probably at her expense. "What do you mean?"

Maleficent turned to face her fully once more. "The example that comes to mind is that I daresay the good fairies caused you quite a bit of harm without physically hurting you. However, in this case, I believe the exception was that a good fairy ought to do anything in her power to defeat a wicked fairy."

Rose attempted for some time to wrap her mind around this, but she did not come up with anything very insightful to say. "They didn't mean to."

Maleficent raised one eyebrow. "Perhaps not," she said, "but it hurt all the same, did it not?"

Rose averted her gaze. She did not want to think about any of that right now. "Have you figured out which spell it was?"

"If I had," she said with a derisive chuckle, "I would have used all of my newfound knowledge to turn all ten volumes of The Big Book of Spells into so many soap bubbles."

Rose stifled a surprised grin. "Bubbles?"

Maleficent flicked a finger at a book of similar size to the one she was reading, and with a little pop, the book dissolved into what, indeed, appeared to be very colourful soap bubbles, which in turn dissolved into nothingness.

"Well, there goes Volume I," said Maleficent, feigning disappointment and surreptitiously eyeing Rose.

Rose bit her lip. She did not know why she felt so embarrassed every time she smiled. She supposed that something about being amused or in any way happy did not seem to fit her dire circumstances, and yet, had she not brought them upon herself? Why shouldn't she enjoy her strange adventure?

"Would you like to claim the honour of destroying Volume II?" she asked coyly.

Rose blanched, "What?"

Maleficent handed her the book, pretending not to notice the pallor of her face. "Rip it up. Bury it. You can burn it for all I care. Perhaps it would be cathartic."

Rose took the book into her hands gingerly, as though it might be the one to burn her. She stammered something unintelligible which contained words such as "I...I don't...I can't..."

Maleficent finally met her eyes. Her expression was stoic, but the sparkle in her eyes suggested amusement. "Or just leave it awhile. Perhaps you'll change your mind."

Rose took this as an invitation to drop the book onto Maleficent's bed as though it had indeed harmed her in some unforgivable way.

* * *

"Mistress Flora," said King Stefan. "I do not doubt your judgement where Maleficent is concerned, but it has been days since your last search attempt. What is your plan for finding her and saving my daughter?"

"King Stefan, I think it is time we accept that Maleficent has left the Land of the Three Kingdoms."

"Very well, I accept it," Stefan said, barely containing an outburst of frustration. "So what do we do?"

"She could be anywhere, Your Majesty," said Flora by way of explanation, wringing her hands unhappily.

Stefan threw up his hands, "Then start looking! Are you not magical? It would take my men weeks to reach the nearest kingdom outside of this land. You can get there in a matter of minutes. _Anywhere_ should not be impossible to you!"

King Stefan had been the younger brother of Prince Henry III, who had died very young in a foolhardy war with what was once the Kingdom of the South. Shortly after the Southerin Kingdom had, quite literally, gone up in flames, the evil fairy Maleficent had appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, and taken up residence there. She had quickly rendered it into a foreboding location befitting of her reputation—a reputation which, it was worth noting, she had also established with little effort.

As Stefan had not been the crown prince, he had not received the usual gifts that Good Fairies bestowed upon royal children. Stefan had been gifted with honour from Flora, kindness from Fauna, and patience from Merryweather. He'd always found this baffling, however, for Mistress Merryweather was not particularly patient, herself, and it was in times like these that Stefan could have used superhuman patience.

"With all due respect, Your Majesty," said Fauna when Flora did not respond, "_Maleficent_ can be anywhere in a matter of minutes. We need a bit more time than that."

Stefan sighed. He did not need to be reminded of Maleficent's power, which he had so stubbornly underestimated years ago. She had proven what she could do quite keenly.

"As such," Flora picked up again, "we wish to search judiciously. We've been making a list of places Maleficent would most likely be before we go chasing after her."

Stefan nodded. At least that was a plan. "Good. And what might those be?"

"I've read that Maleficent spent some time in the Land of Hill and Valley—that would be the first stop, since it's fairly close. She has acquaintances in the Kingdom by the Sea, the Desert Lands, the Land of the Black Forest, and the Mountainlands. She also seems to have some connection to the Kingdom Between Two Rivers—none of the books I've found have much to offer, but apparently there is a land nearby known as the Dragon Country. Given what we have recently learned about Maleficent's shapeshifting abilities, that seems like a worthy place to look."

Stefan knew a bit about the Land of Hill and Valley—according to the King of the Valley Frederic VIII, the land was always rife with wicked fairies, which was possibly related to the fact that the land was also rife with discord. He knew next to nothing about the other places Flora had listed. If pressed, he could probably point them out on a map, but all he really knew was that they were very far away. He held a hand against his forehead in an attempt to assuage a sixteen-year-long headache and then stood from the table. "Very well," he said. "Do as you see fit, Mistress Flora." And then he slowly and quietly walked out of the room.

What kind of life had his only child been fated to? Where was she now? Was she hurt? Frightened? Stefan swallowed the lump in his throat as he shut the door to his study, leaning his head against the door in despair. Was she even still alive?

Mortals were no match for wicked fairies—this had been made quite clear to Stefan. His only resources—his only chance of catching the wicked fairy who had wrought such despair upon his small family—were the three good fairies who were his Counselors, and frankly, they seemed just as lost as he did. That he must once again put his daughter's life in their hands no longer felt particularly safe to him, but what other choice did he have? Were there other fairies somewhere who might be able to help him? Why didn't his Counselors seek their help, if such creatures existed?

Stefan sat at his desk, took up a book, restlessly flipped a few pages, and then set it aside and buried his face in his hands. As usual, there was nothing he could do, and he began to succumb to the growing feeling of helplessness gripping his heart.

After a few minutes of silence, there was a soft knock at his study door. "Come in," he said.

"What did the good fairies say?" asked Leah quietly as she pushed open the door.

Stefan looked up at her. "Nothing of any use, as far as I can tell." He hated to see her looking so worried, and yet a part of him felt that she'd looked that way for as long as he'd known her.

"Isn't there anything we can do?" asked Leah, her voice tremulous with unshed tears.

Stefan stood and took her hands. "If you can think of anything, I'd be glad to hear it," he replied dejectedly. "Are there any fairies in Gavin's kingdom that I don't know about?"

Though the three good fairies technically presided over all three kingdoms in this land, they mostly kept to the North and the East, as Gavin's kingdom, the Kingdom of the West, made it quite clear since its enormous witch burning a few decades ago that its citizens would prefer minimal contact with magical creatures when possible.

Leah shook her head. "But do you really think bringing more fairies into this would be wise?"

"I don't," Stefan sighed. "But..." he regarded Leah sadly for a moment, remembering something she had said almost two decades ago. "We cannot deny Maleficent's power," he said. "And perhaps if I had listened to you years ago, our child would have been spared all of this. Without magic, we don't stand a chance against her."

The faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corners of Leah's lips, and she held Stefan's hand against her face. "Try telling that to Philip," she said, almost lightly but for the tremor in her voice.

"Philip is a boy," Stefan said, shaking his head.

"Philip is like his father," replied Leah unhappily, averting her eyes. She had never been fond of Hubert, something which had begun to trouble Stefan as the years went by, but he had never asked her about it.

"We were all young and foolish once," he said. "He'll learn."

Leah squeezed his hand and then let go of it, turning to leave. "I hope you're right."

* * *

"This is dreadful," said Fauna, covering her face with her hands.

"Those chains should have completely sapped her magic. They should have worked. Felicity said they always worked before."

Fauna and Merryweather had silently reached a consensus not to point out to Flora that the enchanted chains which had bound Maleficent had probably worked just fine. Just because Flora, Fauna, and Merryweather had been next to useless during their sixteen years without magic did not mean that Maleficent was. All the enchanted Chains in the world could not strip Maleficent of her superior intellect and knack for manipulation.

But Flora was under a great deal of stress—she did not need to be reminded of Maleficent's many non-magical talents.

"We'll just have to start looking, Flora," said Merryweather instead.

"That's right," Fauna agreed. "Perhaps we ought to try gathering allies. I'll bet Mistress Felicity and her sisters would help us," she offered.

"Suppose it's all for nothing," Flora snapped.

"Flora!" Fauna and Merryweather cried. Fauna continued, "There's a very good chance that Rose is just fine. You know Maleficent wouldn't just be done with the whole thing like that. It's not the way she works."

"Oh, yes," spat Merryweather. "I'm sure Rose is just _fine_ with Maleficent. Why didn't we think of her as a babysitter?"

Fauna turned to face her, surprised. "Merryweather! That isn't very helpful thinking."

"That's realistic thinking, Fauna," Merryweather replied. "Rose probably isn't dead, but I don't think she's having a picnic in the park, either."

"That's not what I meant! I only meant—"

"Girls, girls," Flora said with a half-hearted wave of her hands. "Pack your things. We leave for the Land of Hill and Valley tonight."

Fauna and Merryweather exchanged a glance and nodded silently to Flora.

The whole affair had been quite dreadful, indeed. The good fairies had believed that Maleficent might have been defeated for good. The Land of the Three Kingdoms could declare a Golden Age of Prosperity. It would become the Land of the Two Kingdoms as Stefan and Hubert's lands began construction to merge into one and Philip and Aurora grew into the King and Queen of the United Kingdoms of North and East.

Though Fauna personally did not believe it was necessary to execute Maleficent, Flora and Merryweather were very set on the matter. She'd found it extremely troubling a few days ago, but now she wondered if they might have been correct. What had happened when Maleficent had been left in chains? She had somehow charmed or cajoled or manipulated little Rose into freeing her.

Rose had not been adjusting very well to her new life. Flora and Merryweather chalked it up to side effects from the Curse. Flora instructed everyone in the castle—including her younger sisters—to leave Rose alone as much as possible, that she might get the extra rest she needed.

Fauna feared that there was more to it than that. Rose had always been spirited. She had never wanted to behave, to stay inside and do her lessons, or to follow orders. She was not a bad child—not at all—but she was clever, sometimes mischievous, and most of all, very curious.

Here, though, Rose never asked questions. She rarely conversed longer than she needed to, and she seemed to find it difficult. Sometimes, when she seemed to be paying attention, she was awkward, as though she did not know what to say. Most times, though, she was distant and lost track of what little conversation there was to be had.

Honestly, when Fauna learned that Rose had left the confines of her room to explore the castle, she had been relieved. This was the Rose she knew—and what harm could come of her taking a little walk around?

What harm, indeed.

It had been Fauna's suggestion that Rose ought to speak with Maleficent before she was put on trial. Rose's curiosity almost invariably got the better of her, and Fauna knew that far more harm than good could come from Rose not getting all of the answers she wanted. She feared that the vague idea of Maleficent, some looming, faceless creature who had hunted her throughout her youth, would haunt Rose for the rest of her life. Fauna thought that perhaps it would be better for Rose to see that Maleficent was not some impossibly fearsome beast, some immortal force of evil who would live on even after her death, the way Prince Philip made her out to be in his gallant tale, and the way Flora and Merryweather sometimes did in their minds. Maleficent was a wicked fairy like any other. She was cruel and ruthless and far cleverer than any other wicked fairy Fauna had ever encountered, but she was a wicked fairy nonetheless, and all wicked fairies could be defeated.

Though she didn't dare say anything for fear of incurring the longest lecture of her life, Fauna didn't understand her sisters' surprise at what had transpired a few nights ago. Rose had led a very sheltered life, and she had always been an uncommonly kind-hearted child. She knew nothing of wicked people like Maleficent, who would tell lies upon lies if it got them what they wanted. Of course she would not understand why Maleficent must be put to death.

And really, Fauna rather hoped Rose still didn't understand. She hoped that Rose _was_ just fine, wherever she was. It wasn't impossible. Maleficent wouldn't harm Rose if she still wanted something.

Then again, she had never seemed to want anything before, and Fauna couldn't imagine what she wanted now. Flora and Merryweather and the King seemed to think Maleficent was holding Rose captive for no other reason than because she was Evil and that was the sort of thing Evil Creatures did, and perhaps they were right. Perhaps Fauna was only holding out hope for some higher purpose because that would mean that Rose stood a chance.

Fauna packed a small satchel of things she would need for the journey and then enchanted the bag so that it would fit in her pocket. Felicity of the Land of Hill and Valley was mostly Flora's friend and she had always made Fauna rather uncomfortable. She supposed that the Land of Hill and Valley was a very different place to live, as it was invariably overrun with wicked fairies. The good fairies there were aggressive and warlike out of necessity. Still, Fauna had a hard time being around them.

Fauna was most looking forward to their impending visit to the Kingdom by the Sea. Fauna and her sisters had only been to the Kingdom by the Sea once, a very long time ago, but it had been breathtakingly beautiful, and they had met the legendary Mistress Sara. Fauna had many fond memories of the Kingdom by the Sea, though perhaps just as many bittersweet ones.

Perhaps looking forward to visiting such a faraway land might have been premature, but Fauna privately doubted that Maleficent was actually anywhere on their list. They would not find her until she wanted to be found, and so Fauna decided to be excited for the journey.

* * *

"So, Briar Rose," said Maleficent after a few moments of silence, "since you evidently did not take to spending your days alone, would you care to accompany me on my journey today?"

Rose knew she ought to have mistrusted such an offhand suggestion from Maleficent, but she had become so desperate for company that she couldn't bring herself to care. Rose leaned forward on her toes and clasped her hands together, to contain her excitement at Maleficent's suggestion. "Oh, yes! Where are you going?"

The corners of Maleficent's ruby red lips curled up in the faintest hint of a smile. "The Land of Hill and Valley."

Rose recognized the name for two reasons. First, she vaguely recalled from one of her aunts' many attempts at tutelage that the Land of Hill and Valley was the closest realm to the Land of Three Kingdoms. It was still quite a journey on horseback, but she had been told that the Royal Family of the East had some contact with the Royal Families of Hill and Valley. This was sufficient in quelling her excitement, and that now familiar mixture of dread and guilt began churning in her stomach once again. "That's rather close to...to our land, isn't it?"

Maleficent nodded, "Relatively speaking, I suppose, but the chances of King Stefan corresponding with either Hill or Valley King are slim. Even if anyone should recognize either of us, by the time word reached the Kingdom of the East, we would already be long gone."

Rose accepted this without further question. She wanted company, she wanted adventure, and the very much wanted to visit the Kingdoms of Hill and Valley. If she was indeed still in danger where Maleficent was concerned, that wouldn't change by staying here or by returning home.

"I suspect you will find it a fascinating place to visit," said Maleficent conversationally. "Under different circumstances, I would have sent word to Mistress Kinsale to expect us, but I doubt she will be terribly put out by a surprise visit."

"Mistress Kinsale? I...oh!...I may meet her?" Mistress Kinsale was the author of the _Biography of Mistress Acacia_, and the second reason for which Rose recognized the name of a land she had never visited. Though Rose wasn't very far along in the book, it was the first story she had ever read which had really grabbed her attention, and she was nearly overcome with excitement at the notion of meeting her new favourite author. "Oh, but I haven't finished reading the story of Mistress Acacia yet...I'm not even halfway through. Every sentence has a word I don't understand. Has she written other things? Won't I seem terribly stupid?"

Rose had begun to pace frantically, but she stopped quite suddenly when Maleficent stood. Once again, distracted by a swirling mess of new ideas, she had nearly forgotten Maleficent's commanding presence. Maleficent was quite a bit taller than Rose, a detail which Rose could overlook when Maleficent was seated, and she exuded a royal quality which Rose could never imagine herself possessing. Rose bizarrely felt the urge to curtsey or show some sign of deference to Maleficent's obvious power—the same urge, incidentally, which she felt in the presence of her parents and Philip's father. She settled upon clasping her hands and bowing her head slightly.

"As I may have mentioned to you, Mistress Kinsale is a very interesting woman. She enjoys the company of humans. She has an excellent understanding of human culture. I doubt she would find you dull even if you could not read a single word."

Rose allowed herself to feel slightly calmed by this information. "Really?" she asked softly.

Maleficent nodded briskly, "Of course really. Now, shall we be on our way?"

Rose nodded quickly in reply and followed Maleficent out of the castle. She wished she could have looked at herself in a mirror or combed her hair, but there did not seem to be any combs or mirrors in the entirety of the castle. This was curious considering that Rose had never seen Maleficent looking anything less than immaculately put together following the night of her escape from King Stefan's dungeon. Rose imagined that magic must be the culprit, for she never noticed Maleficent preening in any way, and she had the feeling that Maleficent would think her very silly indeed for being so concerned about how she looked. She hoped that if Mistress Kinsale were the type to care about such things, Maleficent would have mentioned it to her.

Maleficent led her first up the winding path to the cave where the baby dragon lived. When they saw to it that he was sleeping soundly, she waved her staff in several intricate patterns and he disappeared into thin air. Rose gazed at Maleficent in wonder.

"A protective spell of mine," Maleficent explained when faced with Rose's expression. "I would surround the cave with a thicket of thorns, but..." she nodded her head toward Rose, her eyes twinkling, "we both know how well that worked."

Rose's brow furrowed as a wave of unpleasant emotions overtook her once more. She thought of the life and the people she was avoiding who must be worried about her...and she also thought of Maleficent, broken and powerless in chains, sentenced to death. She averted her eyes and clasped her hands together uncomfortably.

"Well," Maleficent recovered without missing a beat, "on we go," she said. Rose was very glad that Maleficent offered her arm, for it gave her something to focus on other than the mess that was her current emotional state. Rose clutched Maleficent's arm with both hands and much too tightly, which earned her a very odd look from Maleficent.

"Oh," she said, "I had already forgotten: you don't like to travel." In the most polite way possible, Maleficent gently shook Rose's clinging hands off of her arm, which was no small task. Rose did not know how she had done it at all until she realized that her hands were tingling.

Caught up in examining the unknown force working upon her hands, Rose at first did not notice Maleficent. Maleficent gently cleared her throat and Rose looked up to find Maleficent's face stoic, her elbows at her waist with staff tucked under the left arm, and her forearms extended toward Rose.

Rose stared openly at Maleficent's arms, considering the (admittedly many) times she had touched Maleficent during their brief acquaintance, most of which had had stony reception at best. She thought of the other time Maleficent had extended her arms to Rose, chained wrists exposed, awaiting Rose's decision to free her or condemn her.

Rose averted her eyes and hesitantly walked into Maleficent's waiting arms. Maleficent wrapped one arm protectively around Rose's head and the other around her waist, and Rose felt her entire body flushing hot and her heart beginning to pound. Now it was her turn to stand stiffly in Maleficent's embrace, and it was not until she felt that awful sensation of being nowhere that Rose wrapped her arms tightly around Maleficent's waist and pressed her cheek against Maleficent's breast. Maleficent would keep her safe. Maleficent would not let her fade into nothingness.

The whole trip could not have taken more than a few minutes, but when Rose's feet touched solid ground, she fell to her knees in relief.

Maleficent stood, hands folded atop her staff, waiting patiently for Rose to gather herself and stand. "I hope you won't take this the wrong way," said Maleficent as Rose pressed her hands against the grass upon which she knelt, "but did you really think you wouldn't make it in one piece?"

Rose, who was preoccupied with trying unceremoniously to stand on shaky legs which would not hold her, did not deign to respond.

"You know, I think I ought to be offended," Maleficent continued, and now Rose was certain she was enjoying Rose's embarrassment. "Do you think me a substandard sorceress? I can't even magic a slip of a maiden to her intended destination in one piece?"

Rose blew a piece of her hair out of her face—which, as she had suspected, was tangled beyond repair—to shoot Maleficent a glare. Her irritation at being made fun of distracted her from the constant feeling that her life was a giant swirling mass of nothing and she managed to right herself.

"All right, you've had your fun," Rose spat. "Enough."

"Oh, do forgive me," Maleficent said with a small bow of her head, "you are a maiden no longer."

This comment stung for reasons Rose could not entirely explain, and she felt her heart drop into her stomach, where it began pounding and churning up the most awful feeling Rose had ever experienced. If she'd had her way, she wouldn't be a married woman, bound forever to someone she barely knew, someone she might perhaps not adore quite as much as she'd thought she did at first, but that was hardly her fault, was it?

Unfortunately, the churning, boiling feeling coarsing through her blood was not conducive to cogent arguments. "And you are a maiden still," Rose replied icily, and even as she spoke she wished she could take the words back. "So perhaps I am not so inferior to you as you imagine."

Maleficent's smile was cold and mirthless. It mocked the genuine, warm smile Rose had seen the previous evening. "If you were anything but a human girl, I would be appalled that you should define your worth by whether a man had lain claim to the flesh between your legs. However, I did not mean the comment as an insult, and I am surprised that you took it as such."

Rose could not define the awful demon churning in her heart and her stomach, but she also could not contain it. "Oh, do tell me!" she cried, approaching Maleficent. "How should I define my worth? By whether my parents want me? By whether my...my...non-aunt fairies want me, even if only to keep me locked away from the world? By whether you will see fit to spend an afternoon talking to me instead of leaving me alone for who knows how long in a strange place and 'politely suggesting' that I not leave 'for my own safety'?"

Maleficent remained cold and impassive. "Forgive me for showing concern," she said crisply.

"Concern!" Rose echoed, shaking her head furiously. "Why? Why in the world would you care if something happened to me, when that was exactly what you wanted? Is it because I saved your life? Would you lose sleep over it, perhaps? For how long? A year? A decade? In the end I would be...I would be a teardrop in the great ocean that is the life of a wicked fairy, so in the end, what would it really matter to you if something should happen to me?"

"Do you not care if something happens to you?" Maleficent asked, raising one eyebrow.

"Obviously not," Rose retorted with a sweeping gesture aimed at Maleficent, that great catalyst for all of her misfortunes.

Maleficent nodded, "Really? Really, you only set me free because you didn't care what became of you?"

Rose lifted her chin defiantly.

"Since you seem to want my opinion on so many subjects at the moment, I shall offer you this one: if you truly did not care what became of you, you would have let me die. You would have been a good and faithful slave to Philip and the Royal Families of North and East. You would have borne him children even if it tore you apart. You would have been contented to fade into relative obscurity, your only legend that you once famously _fell asleep_."

Maleficent moved so quickly that Rose barely even noticed until she was looming over her, not even a breath away. Rose swallowed, but her throat was dry.

Maleficent's black eyes were afire, and a small smirk crossed her face before she spoke once more. "If you had told me the night we met that you did not care what became of you, I might have believed you. I might have believed that you were contented to live in the delusion of happiness that others had fashioned for you.

"But here is my opinion, _Princess_: you want to live. Not to survive, but to_ live_. You want to make a life for yourself, rather than to simply accept a life that's been fashioned for you. You knew you weren't throwing your life away when you set me free. You did not take off those chains to get yourself killed. You did it because you believed in my promise to free you from your own prison. Tell me," she almost sneered, "have you since changed your mind on the matter of living?"

Rose's lower lip quivered. She shook her head and blinked back frightened tears. But Maleficent's fury was gone as soon as it had come. She straightened her posture and offered Rose her arm. "Good," she said quietly. "Shall we?"

Rose took Maleficent's arm, for she was too frightened to refuse it, but her entire body was quivering.

"To answer your previous questions, I believe that one, and you especially, should define her worth independent of other people. People may come and go, but you will always be yourself. You will find no peace unless you are contented to be who you are."

Rose was finding it quite difficult to think clearly, but she tried to consider this information.

At the moment, she was not very happy with who she was. She felt stupid. Stupid and reckless. What sort of foolhardy person ran away from her life as a married princess to live on the run with a magical being who had attempted to kill her? Setting that aside, what sort of person then continued to push said magical being for little other reason than that she was feeling uncomfortable and wanted to yell about something? Maleficent demonstrated time and again how terrifying she could be without even trying, and yet Rose so easily forgot her circumstances.

"Additionally, I would like to apologize for the implications of the statement 'if you were anything but a human girl.' I am not merely offering you protection on the basis of honour and I do not think of you as a transient human whose only purpose in my life is that you once spared it."

This took some time for Rose to piece together. Rose found herself hoping she could understand a word that Mistress Kinsale said. She found Maleficent's way of speaking almost too formal and flowery to decipher, and if Mistress Kinsale spoke as she wrote, Rose would have a hard time of it, indeed. And she had already had enough of feeling like an imbecile today.

Maleficent was apologizing. That in itself was rather startling. She was apologizing for snapping at Rose, which was also rather odd, because Rose had done most of the snapping. And the rest...she was saying that she wasn't just concerned about Rose's safety because Rose saved her life. And that she didn't think that Rose was forgetful in her transience?

"You...you don't?" Rose swallowed. "I mean...you aren't?"

Maleficent's focus was upon the beautiful landscape before them. This valley was perhaps not as breathtaking as the Dragon Country, but nor was it as unsettling. The grass was a lovely shade of deep green, the late morning sky was full of puffy white clouds, and everything, from the grass to the trees to the sparse arrangements of flowers, somehow gave off the impression of being neat and orderly.

"One of the few joys of being me," said Maleficent quietly, "is that I do not have to do anything I don't want to do."

This concept was not difficult to grasp by itself, but in the context of the conversation, it made Rose's head spin with questions she couldn't form into coherent thoughts. The thought which made it to her lips was perhaps not the most polished, but it was certainly foremost in her mind. "You don't want to kill me?"

Maleficent glanced down at her, "Haven't I said that already?"

Rose frowned dubiously. "Not in so many words."

"I don't know what it is you're hoping to uncover," said Maleficent, returning her gaze to the path they walked. "I could tell you there's no need to fear for your safety in my company, but that wouldn't make much difference if you don't believe me."

Rose stopped walking and let go of Maleficent's arm, summoning what little courage she possessed. "I want to know why," she said as firmly as she could manage, trying to ignore her heart pounding in her ears. "That's all. Just why."

Maleficent turned to face her, expression impassive. "It seems to me there's more to it than that," she said coldly. "I think you're trying to find a reason to forgive me. You want your good fairy aunts to be wrong about me."

Rose averted her eyes. "You're avoiding my question."

"There isn't some grand, tragic, misunderstood reason."

"Is there any reason at all, or is that just what you felt like doing one day?" asked Rose almost sharply, growing increasingly frustrated with Maleficent's evasion.

Maleficent tilted her head and quirked one eyebrow, considering Rose for a moment before she responded. "Queen Leah made a deal with me. She didn't hold up her end of the bargain."

Rose felt suddenly like crying again, and she clasped her hands together tightly. "What sort of deal was so important to you?"

"It wasn't of any importance to me at all," said Maleficent haughtily, lifting her chin in a show of defiance. Rose was so stunned by a sudden thought that occurred to her that she no longer felt like crying. She gazed wide-eyed at Maleficent and said nothing, trying to make sense of it.

Maleficent was lying.

Rose was certain of it, and yet she couldn't imagine how she'd be certain of such a thing. Maleficent could control a conversation without missing a beat. Rose had previously imagined that most of what Maleficent said to her was probably at least slightly untrue, but if indeed Maleficent had lied to her before, she hadn't exhibited any telling mannerisms whatsoever. And yet, at this very moment, Maleficent had just lied to her, and Rose did not know what to make of that.

She decided not to press the issue any further for today. She'd gotten a partial answer, which was honestly more than she'd hoped for, and there was little she could do but take Maleficent at her word that Rose was not in danger from her.

Rose looked away, for she realized she'd been staring. "I would like to apologize...for...most of what I said earlier. It was rather childish of me."

Maleficent approached her and offered her arm once more. "Thank you," she said in her usual clipped tone. "But there's no need. In case it's escaped your notice, I'm not particularly accustomed to dealing with people. I'd much prefer if you made it clear what you're thinking and feeling."

Something about this comment, which was delivered in the same neutral, slightly harsh tone as most of what Maleficent said, filled Rose with a kind of gushing happiness she'd only felt once before. She was consumed by the urge to throw her arms around Maleficent, but that seemed like a very stupid idea indeed, and so she settled upon smiling to herself as they continued to walk.

There was something positively delightful about someone who didn't care what she thought or felt, in the sense that Maleficent didn't expect Rose to think or feel a certain way. For the first time since her decision to run away, Rose truly felt as though she had gained some freedom in this mad venture.

"Here we are," said Maleficent, gesturing with her staff to a rather large manor not far ahead.

The house appeared to be in the middle of nowhere. The landscape dipped slightly and in the centre of the valley stood a mansion big enough to be a castle, surrounded by high stone walls with no sign of a gate. They drew closer by the minute to these walls and Rose grew confused—was Maleficent planning to magic them through, or...?

"WHO GOES THERE?" bellowed a voice from nowhere...or from everywhere, Rose could not decide. She clutched Maleficent's arm, desperately trying to suppress the urge to run away or faint.

"Kinsale, it's Maleficent. And I've brought a guest. Is this a bad time?"

The tone immediately changed from terrifying to warm and welcoming. "Maleficent? Truly? It's been so long! One moment..."

At first, there was a faint rumbling, as though of distant thunder. Then the earth beneath their feet began to shake. And then, to Rose's immense surprise, the stone wall began to ripple...to _move_...to shift so that it formed an archway which offered passage to the massive front doors of Mistress Kinsale's home.

Maleficent gestured toward the doors. "After you."

Rose smoothed her hair and began to fidget with her dress, "Are you certain I won't embarrass myself?"

Maleficent shook her head in mild exasperation and placed a hand lightly on Rose's back, nudging her forward. "Do you think I would deliberately embarrass you for my own enjoyment?"

Rose responded with a half-hearted glare. "Yes. Yes, I do."

Maleficent smirked, which surprised Rose into forgetting what had made her so irritable in the first place. "Come now," she said, and Rose could have sworn that there was less derision in her tone than usual.

The house seemed even larger and more imposing as they drew closer. The doors were twice as tall as Maleficent's own front doors, and Rose could not even imagine what to expect when they began to open, as if by magic. Rose shook her head as this thought came to her mind. Of course they were opening by magic.

The doors opened to reveal a grand ballroom like nothing Rose had ever sen. The walls and floors gleamed in gold and silver splendour. Every inch of the room was flooded with warm, brilliant light which did not seem to be coming from anywhere. Along the walls were rows of banquet tables covered in shimmering silver tablecloths. Adjacent were scores of various seating arrangements, from elegant dining tables to cosy sofas and armchairs. On either side of the room was an enormous fireplace surrounded by big, puffy chairs, and still in the center of the room was more space than could ever be used for dancing.

Rose's eyes traced the length of the deep red carpet which split the magnificent room down the center. It led to an equally magnificent golden throne. Rose could tell from across the room that the throne must have been intricately crafted—for atop it she could see the head of a roaring lion, golden mane seeming to fly in an imaginary breeze—and she longed to inspect it more closely.

The dark figure sitting in the throne stood. The movement caught Rose's eye and she caught her first glimpse of Mistress Kinsale. She felt Maleficent urging her to walk forward, and together, they walked the length of that red carpet to greet the ruler of this glorious house.

"I can scarcely believe my eyes," said Mistress Kinsale in a voice which was rich and musical. "Mistress Maleficent of the Three Kingdoms, here in my very own humble abode once more."

Mistress Kinsale was tall for a woman, but not nearly as tall as Maleficent, and her body seemed altogether a bit sturdier. She wore a breathtakingly beautiful dress of silver with little gold accents, fitted so that it emphasized her shapely figure. Where Maleficent's skin was a pale, pine sort of green, Mistress Kinsale's was a deep, rich green accented by rosy red cheeks and a general healthy glow. Rose glanced up at Maleficent and then back to Mistress Kinsale, and it occurred to her that perhaps Maleficent's skin ought to look that way and didn't.

Mistress Kinsale descended the few steps from her throne and embraced Maleficent, kissing her lightly on both cheeks, and Rose's hand flew to her mouth as she prepared to see the woman thrown across the room. To Rose's immense surprise, however, Maleficent did not resist the gesture, though she did not return it. She smiled thinly and said, "It is good to see you, Kinsale. I hope I have not put you out by dropping in unexpectedly."

Kinsale waved her hand dismissively, "Not at all. Now, are you going to introduce me to your charming guest?"

Mistress Kinsale turned to face Rose, who smiled uneasily and curtseyed, for lack of anything better to do. Kinsale's eyes were not coal black like Maleficent's, but very dark brown, shining not with cunning, but with something akin to warmth. Kinsale's features were sharp like Maleficent's and perhaps even more elfin. Her hair, which had at first glance appeared black, but was a rich dark brown almost like her eyes, was pulled back into a very intricate, braided hairstyle, revealing pointed ears. (Rose wondered whether Maleficent had pointed ears as well—was it rude to ask?)

Kinsale smiled, revealing perfectly straight, white teeth, and the overall effect was somewhat unnerving. Rose felt a chill run down her spine and she tried to avoid visibly wincing.

"Mistress Kinsale, may I introduce you to Her Royal Highness, the Princess Aurora of the Kingdom of the East."

Mistress Kinsale raised her eyebrows and gave Maleficent a look of delighted surprise before turning back to Rose and offering a deep, sweeping curtsey which put Rose's to shame. Rose began wringing her hands uncomfortably.

"The famous Princess Aurora? Maleficent, you are unbelievable! Your Royal Highness, I cannot tell you what a pleasure it is to make your acquaintance. Now," she waved her hands and Rose and Maleficent parted to let her pass, "you must come and sit down, for I sincerely hope that this is as good of a story as I think it shall be." She ushered them over to one of the many lush seating arrangements in the room, this one comprised of three large red armchairs and a tea table.

"Sit!" she exclaimed. They sat. "Tea?" she asked, and before they could answer, she waved her hand absently at the table and conjured an entire tea set, complete with steaming tea that smelled of raspberries.

"Maleficent, let's begin with you. Last I heard, you found Aurora and enacted your intended curse, captured Prince Philip of the North and were planning to keep him in your dungeon until he ceased to amuse you. Did something go wrong?" she looked at Rose and her deep brown eyes quickly took in Rose's entire body, down and back up. Rose shivered. "Or perhaps right?"

Rose looked to Maleficent, hoping she might share more information with her friend. Maleficent rolled her eyes. "I suppose you wouldn't know this, but my minions had become rather pitiful—rampant inbreeding. I shouldn't have entrusted anything to them. In any event, the three good fairies managed to outrun them, turned Diablo to stone, and made off with Philip, apparently equipping him with a Sword of Truth and a Shield of Virtue."

"A what?" Kinsale interrupted her. Rose realized that Kinsale was on the edge of her seat. "Where did Flora get those? I've never met even one of those sisters—I wasn't aware they had any kind of network. Or have they become significantly more powerful since last we spoke?"

Maleficent shrugged, "They must have acquired them somewhere—Flora had to steal magic from her sisters to enact the Sword Incantation."

"No!" Kinsale's hand flew to her mouth. "Oh, Maleficent, were you badly hurt?"

Maleficent waved a hand dismissively, "I am obviously quite all right. My point was that Flora not only acquired a Sword of Truth and a Shield of Virtue, but the Chains of Avasina."

Kinsale tapped her chin with her fingers. "I wonder how she managed that. Do you have powerful enemies of whom I'm not aware?"

Maleficent averted her gaze for an instant. "It's not impossible, but it's more likely that Flora appealed to someone with a general hatred of wicked fairies."

"You don't mean Mistress Sara?"

"Hmm," Maleficent considered this. "Perhaps, but more likely someone from your kingdom. I don't believe the Righteous Three travel very much."

Kinsale shrugged. "Felicity? I never thought her the type to carry such artefacts, but there have been so many drifters here over the past few years, perhaps she has taken to drastic measures. She's quite good at enchanting objects to do her bidding. Sometimes I worry about inviting her to my soirees. I fear my dinnerware might come after me."

Maleficent chuckled. Rose's head was spinning, and she couldn't even begin to make sense of half of the information she'd just heard. She had a strange and contradictory impression of Kinsale. On the one hand, she exuded warmth and enthusiasm, something Rose had been sorely missing with no one but Maleficent or herself for company. On the other hand, Rose realized that, just as readily as Kinsale had accepted Rose's presence, she would have accepted her absence and rejoiced in Maleficent's victory.

It occurred to Rose, in the form of a jolt of fear, that Maleficent might have brought Rose to Kinsale to get rid of her, since Maleficent did not want to kill the person who had spared her life.

"Anyway, what was it like?" Kinsale asked, and Rose tried to imagine her a cold-blooded murderer. It wasn't a difficult thing to see in Maleficent. Though Kinsale was similarly intimidating, Rose found it somewhat difficult to reconcile her evident pleasantness with the possibility of cruelty. "I've never met anyone else who's been put in those chains and lived to tell the tale."

Rose could certainly see how this woman had written a biography so interesting that even someone as illiterate as Rose wanted to read it. The world was a story to her, and she had a rather magnetic quality about her. It must be easy for her to draw the stories she wrote out of their keepers.

Or perhaps Rose was simply in dire need of company. Maleficent, for her part, seemed quite uncomfortable. She averted her eyes, pretending to examine various trinkets around the room as she spoke. "It is...difficult to explain. It's the feeling when you have completely sapped your magic, but your magic doesn't return. You almost...forget what it felt like to have magic."

"That's horrible," murmured Kinsale. "What of your sword wound?"

Maleficent shook her head. "Apparently I was unconscious for many days. When I came around, I was in a great deal of pain that occasionally overwhelmed me into unconsciousness once more. The wound began to heal when my magic was returned to me, of course, but very slowly. It no longer pains me very much."

Rose's brow furrowed in concern. Maleficent had seemed so untouchable to her even that first night—it hadn't once occurred to Rose that she might be in pain from her near-fatal injury, and she felt rather stupid for forgetting about it.

"I am sorry for excluding you, Princess Aurora," said Kinsale and Rose jumped to attention. "How do you like your tea?"

Rose had not taken a drink of the tea. Though it smelled delicious, Rose had idly wondered whether it might be poisoned and had been eyeing it suspiciously ever since the idea had occurred to her. Faced with Kinsale's frightening smile, however, Rose quickly took a sip. "It's delicious," she murmured with a nervous smile. "Thank you."

"I'm glad. Are we being dull? It isn't often I entertain royalty, and I shouldn't like to give you a bad impression."

"No, no," Rose shook her head, concentrating on her tea. "Of course not."

"Are you getting new information? I could interrogate her a bit more if you'd like," said Kinsale with a wink. Rose was so taken aback that a small, genuine smile tugged at her lips.

"So!" Kinsale cried, mercifully returning her attention to Maleficent. "When we left off, you were in—Stefan's dungeon, I presume?—bound by the magical Chains of Avasina. Your magic was slowly draining out of you, to be lost forever, and you were surely to be condemned to death—what happened next?"

Against Rose's better judgement, she found herself drawn into Kinsale's story—or perhaps the captivating way in which she spoke the words—and she almost forgot how directly the story involved her.

"My," said Maleficent, her expression more pleasant than Rose had ever seen it, "you can spin a story into something far more gripping than it really was." Kinsale bowed her head in thanks. "Prince Philip, King Stefan, and a council of nobles I had never seen before came shortly after I awoke and informed me that since I was alive, I would be tried for my crimes. Later, Stefan came alone to inform me that he would see me dead no matter the cost."

Though Rose had barely spoken with King Stefan—her father, she had to remind herself—she found this information somewhat upsetting. She tried to understand it, to think, _if I were my daughter...and Maleficent had cursed my daughter to die_...but this made her head begin to ache, and she had to set down her tea to reach up and rub her temples until she could push away this troubling thought. King Stefan did not feel like her father, and she could not imagine how he could think of her as his daughter when he knew nothing about her. That was a thought for another time, preferably when Rose didn't have so much other troubling information to contend with. She tried to refocus her attention on Maleficent and Kinsale's conversation, instead.

"I considered telling him exactly where his little merger with Hubert would be without my help, but I figured there was little point as he would never believe me. Later that night," Maleficent shot Rose a sidelong glance, "the Princess Aurora paid me a secretive visit of her own."

"And why did you think she had come to visit you?"

Maleficent rolled her eyes again. "I supposed she had gotten wind that I was alive and wished to see me for herself, perhaps ask why I wanted her dead."

"And Princess Aurora, why did you come to see Maleficent?"

Kinsale was still crafting her story. A part of Rose still found it disturbing, but she was also rather helplessly drawn in by Kinsale's enthusiasm. "I...well," she began, her voice weak, "Philip...told me that she was alive and I...ah...well, he doesn't ever tell me everything that's going on, so I...sort of snuck out of my room and learned that my...that the good fairies were planning to...to execute her," she swallowed, "and...I don't know, I had to know the truth. About...many things."

Kinsale nodded and motioned for Maleficent to continue.

Maleficent's lip curled, but somehow it seemed more mocking than malicious. "As I'm sure you've been hoping from the beginning, out of the kindness of her heart, the princess agreed to remove my chains on the condition that, wherever I went, I would take her with me."

Kinsale leaned forward, "I see! Aurora gave you your freedom and you gave Aurora hers! How delightful!"

Maleficent scowled, then cast another sideways glance at Rose. "The princess is very fond of one of your books," she said, a hint of amusement in her voice.

"Really?" Kinsale clasped a hand to her heart, redirecting her attention to Rose, who shrank into her seat. "Oh, how delightful! Which one?"

"_The Biography of Mistress Acacia_," said Rose. She tried to swallow the lump slowly forming in her throat.

"Mistress Acacia! Oh, that is wonderful! Have you read the whole story?"

Rose blushed and looked down at her hands as she shook her head.

"Oh dear, I did not mean to cause you embarrassment!" she exclaimed. She placed a hand gently on Rose's arm. Rose flinched away in surprise, but Kinsale pretended not to notice. "How far have you gotten?"

"Not very far at all," Rose said to her hands. "I just read the part about the people of the kingdom beginning to blame Acacia for the food shortage."

"Oh, what a fascinating story! I could have written several volumes on Mistress Cordelia, given the opportunity. Unfortunately, I only ever met her once, and she was not too keen on speaking with me. I was a young thing then, had never published anything, had no name, no credibility, of course she wouldn't have anything to do with me, legend that she was." In spite of herself, Rose looked up at Kinsale, captivated by the exuberant tale she told.

"And you know, a story like that isn't really anything without some first-hand information. Acacia was quite remarkable, though. She suffered such adversity at such a young age, and yet, she was still quite a charming, personable woman. Not unlike Mistress Maleficent," Kinsale said with another wink.

Rose averted her eyes once more, but she wasn't quite able to contain her smile. _Personable _wasn't a word she would use to describe Maleficent, and yet she did have a dark sort of charm about her.

"Tell me, Aurora," said Kinsale. "Were you offended by my portrayal of the humans in that part of the story?"

Rose shook her head, surprised, "No, I, ah... I thought it was," she swallowed again, "very diplomatic... I, ah...I mean..." she found her thoughts difficult to put into words, for her opinion was based on so much more than the little bit of Kinsale's book she had read. "I don't really...think it's right that they didn't blame the good fairy who started the problem..."

Kinsale smirked and gave Maleficent a pointed look. "You've been a bad influence on her already, I see."

"I have done nothing of the sort," Maleficent replied crisply. "I was not aware that she was reading _Mistress Acacia_ until yesterday evening."

Kinsale chuckled, "Whatever you say. Well, Aurora, I hope you will keep me informed of what you think of the rest of the book!"

Rose nodded quickly, hoping this meant that her part of the conversation was over for the moment.

"Now, where have you been since the dungeons of the Eastern Fortress?"

"Eastern Fortress," Maleficent echoed derisively. "We've been living in the castle in the Dragon Country, of course. Where else?"

"What a beautiful land," Kinsale replied, undeterred. "How do you find it, Aurora?"

"Oh...yes. Very lovely."

"How are the dragons these days, Maleficent?"

"Well, that is actually the purpose of my visit. I hoped you might have some insight on this matter. All of the dragons are gone except for one, who is at most a year old."

"No!" Kinsale gasped. "Does the juvenile know anything? Can you communicate with him?"

Maleficent nodded and Rose saw in her eyes an echo of the listless panic Maleficent had exhibited a few days ago. "He faintly remembers a storm or explosion of some sort. Shortly thereafter, everyone became very ill and started dying off in scores."

Kinsale's expression of jovial fascination had turned to one of grim concern. Rose wondered whether Kinsale truly cared or whether it was merely another story to her. "That doesn't sound good at all, does it?"

"To make matters worse, I haven't seen a single person in the nearby village who appears to be even middle-aged."

"That is odd. And it doesn't seem like a passer-by thing to do," Kinsale tapped her chin again. "But to my knowledge, you're the only living wicked fairy with any connection to the Dragon Country."

"Unless of course Adara is still alive."

Kinsale shook her head, "Now who's making a good story?"

"Tell me it's impossible," said Maleficent, lifting her chin.

"Now Maleficent," said Kinsale firmly, "no one has seen or heard from her in over a century."

Maleficent rolled her eyes once more and looked away. "Yes, yes," she said absently. "I suppose I only wanted your opinion on the matter." Rose was stunned by how quickly she had conceded to Kinsale's opinion.

"My opinion is that it was not Adara," said Kinsale. "You're right, of course—nothing is impossible, but it makes less sense than, say, a disciple of Mistress Sara."

"Ah," Maleficent responded, but she seemed to return only partially from whatever faraway place her mind had drifted off to. "I had not considered Mistress Sara."

Kinsale nodded grimly, "I fear that Sara must always be considered these days. I am dreadfully sorry, Aurora—do you know about Mistress Sara?"

"Is she the same Mistress Sara who defeated Mistress Cordelia?" asked Rose. Hadn't that been...well, centuries ago? How long did wicked fairies live, exactly?

"That's the one!" said Kinsale, her previous glee returning in an instant. "My, but the Sea Kingdom is a lovely place to visit! Have you ever seen the ocean?"

Rose shook her head and leaned forward in her seat.

"You think the Dragon Country is beautiful—oh, just wait until you see the Kingdom by the Sea! And if you are fond of Mistress Acacia's story, you simply must visit all of the historical places there! Why, if Maleficent is too busy brooding over her schoolbooks, I shall take you, myself!"

Maleficent's expression was as impassive as usual, but the expression in her eyes was something akin to a glower.

"Excuse me," said Kinsale, "I've gotten off-topic. Maleficent, you wouldn't know this, having been so preoccupied over the last few years, but Mistress Sara has gathered something of a fanatical following amongst good fairies. Felicity is one of them—honestly, I would have expected Flora to be one of them."

"Yes, well," said Maleficent, "she was rather busy hiding the princess from me."

Again, Rose felt her stomach twisting itself into knots. She could easily imagine their friendly conversation without her presence as they rejoiced in her endless Sleeping Curse, or in her death.

"Of course, of course," said Kinsale lightly, waving her hands erratically at nothing, "My, what a lot of serious talk in one sitting! Aurora, would you care to take a tour of my home?"

Though Rose had many reasons to be wary of Mistress Kinsale, she could not help but find her fascinating, and her warmth and friendliness, while slightly jarring in juxtaposition to the things she seemed to find important, were a welcome change from Maleficent's gloomy demeanour. Anyway, she couldn't very well refuse Kinsale's offer, and it was a very lovely house. "Yes, I would like that," Rose said, forcing a thin smile.

Kinsale smiled, delighted once more. "Wonderful! Maleficent, are you staying here?"

"I am certain you two will find much to discuss in my absence," Maleficent replied, but her mind was clearly still elsewhere.

Kinsale waved her hand in the general direction of Maleficent's empty teacup, which promptly filled itself with more steaming, delicious-smelling raspberry tea. "Enjoy the echo of your own voice," she said sweetly. She offered her arm to Rose and they made their way out of the grand ballroom and to a foyer which contained nothing but an enormous staircase.

"There's little to see on the first floor besides the ballroom and the giant stormcloud constantly looming over Maleficent's head," said Kinsale as they ascended the stairs.

Rose almost laughed. "I thought it was my fault."

Kinsale shook her head. "Of course not. Maleficent's own mind is her worst enemy. Though I expect you get under her skin a fair bit more than she likes."

"How do you figure that?" Rose asked.

They reached the top of the stairs and Kinsale led her into the first room there. "This is my main library," she said. She waved her hand and the room exploded in light. Rose gasped and for a moment could not catch her breath. She had never seen more books in her life. The walls were lined with them. She could not see where one shelf ended and the next began. She almost missed the chairs and tables in the room, and it occurred to her that there was no way of reaching the better part of the books...unless, she reminded herself, one could use magic.

"Maleficent used to have a stunning library—it put this one to shame. But I suspect it's very much out of date and untended now. And I know Adara never cared much for books—she read only what she must. She was very creative with spells, though. That was her most frightening advantage. Excuse me—I meant to say, Maleficent isn't used to being fond of people."

Rose whipped her head around to look at Kinsale. "Fond of people?" she repeated incredulously. The notion was so absurd to her that she was momentarily distracted from how uneasy Kinsale made her feel. "Half the time it seems she's barely restraining herself from snapping my neck."

Kinsale chuckled lightly, a disquieting reaction which chilled Rose to the bone, and she wished she hadn't said anything. "I'm afraid that's just her sweet disposition," she said with a shrug. "If you want my opinion, I don't think Maleficent has it in her to kill an innocent girl like you."

"You can't get much more innocent than a baby," Rose replied sceptically, trying to ignore the twisting sensation in her stomach.

"No," said Kinsale thoughtfully, "but let me see if I can explain this. It's much easier for someone like Maleficent to imagine killing off something like a baby—something which doesn't have any significance to her, which doesn't bear much weight in her mind—than a sentient person, especially one she doesn't actively dislike."

Rose struggled with this idea, that an innocent baby could seem insignificant and easy to kill. "I'm afraid I still don't understand. How could someone wish harm to someone who was completely defenceless?"

Kinsale considered this, tapping a finger against her chin. "Consider that a newborn baby princess isn't completely defenceless," she said slowly. "She has her parents, the King and Queen, who have an army at their disposal. She has three Good Fairy guardians who are bound by their duty as King's Counselors to defend her. Indeed, this particular newborn princess has three kingdoms worth of people who will likely go to task for her if the need arises."

Rose frowned and began wringing her hands uncomfortably. "I suppose I see what you're saying, at least...but that doesn't really excuse what she did...or what she meant to do, anyway."

"I wasn't trying to excuse Maleficent's actions, only to clarify them," Kinsale replied with a small shrug. "Maleficent's curse was not an act against you, personally. It was an act against you as a faceless entity—namely, the baby princess—and an act against you as you relate to your kingdom. I can't speak for her, of course, but based upon what I know of Maleficent, this seems the most likely explanation for her behaviour. That certainly doesn't make it excusable by human standards."

_What about your standards?_ Rose wanted to ask, but she bit her tongue and considered the information she had been offered.

It made sense with what Maleficent had told her earlier, namely that she had cursed Rose because Queen Leah, her mother, had broken some kind of deal with her. And if Rose were to believe Kinsale, that would mean that she was truly no longer in danger. It didn't seem like a particularly good idea to let her guard down, and yet if she were still in danger, there would be little she could do to defend herself. Her disbelief wouldn't stop someone who was bent upon killing her, anyway.

"I'm still not sure I believe that she doesn't actively dislike me, as you put it," Rose murmured, still wrapped up in thought.

Kinsale laughed again and placed a hand on Rose's shoulder. Rose flinched involuntarily, but she made an effort not to shy away. "I'm afraid you'll simply have to trust me on that one," said Kinsale, squeezing Rose's shoulder affectionately. "I've known Maleficent since she was only a bit older than you are. On we go."

Rose followed Kinsale out of the library contemplating an entirely new branch of questions. How long ago had Maleficent been nearly Rose's age? Rose had thought at first glance that Maleficent was fairly young—maybe in her thirties at most. The thinness of her face emphasized the sharpness of her features and gave her an air of maturity, but she didn't have a single wrinkle, and her skin was smooth and flawless.

But Maleficent had left the Dragon Country nearly a century ago. Meaning she was more than a century old.

Kinsale generally appeared and gave off the air of being younger than Maleficent. Her face was rounder, her voice was lighter, and she seemed altogether far less troubled, though that mostly proved to be somewhat disconcerting.

"This is my study, and it doubles as my mail room," said Kinsale, as she opened a door at the end of the hallway. Behind the door were a few stairs which led to a large room with a high ceiling. In the center of the room was a writing desk covered in loose papers and many unique, colourful quills. The room was lined by huge windows which overlooked the hilly fields over which Rose and Maleficent had walked. Occupying the windowsills were perhaps a dozen doves of varying colours, all of whom cooed happily at the sight of Kinsale.

"Oh!" Rose exclaimed with a smile. "What lovely birds!"

"They're very friendly," Kinsale said with an encouraging smile.

Rose glanced back at her, still a bit uncertain, but ultimately, she ventured toward the windowsill. The birds cooed to her, as well, and when her face inevitably lit up in a smile, one of them flew to her and lit upon her shoulder. Rose reached up to stroke the peach-coloured feathers above the dove's beak and found that she instantly liked Kinsale much better.

"I've always found birds to be very good judges of character, you know," said Kinsale, echoing Rose's own thoughts.

Rose smiled at her in surprise. "Sometimes I think I understand birds better than I understand people."

Kinsale tilted her head slightly, studying Rose, but the gesture didn't make Rose as uncomfortable as it had before. "I do hope you'll take my offer of correspondence seriously," she said, approaching Rose slowly. "It must be a difficult situation that brought you here, and Maleficent is a difficult person. I may not be an ideal confidante for you, but I'd hate for you to feel you have no one to talk to."

Rose averted her eyes. "Thank you," she said, and she found that the words were genuine. "It would be nice...to have someone to talk to."

Kinsale touched Rose's shoulder again and Rose looked up. "You and Maleficent might have more in common than you think," said Kinsale.

Rose scoffed and shook her head. "Maybe, but you said yourself she's not the easiest person to communicate with."

"Perhaps not," Kinsale sighed thoughtfully. "Maybe...consider that the reasons she can be a bit...standoffish...aren't what you think they are. Oh!"

Before Rose could ask for clarification, Kinsale moved past her and gazed at something outside in the field. Rose turned to look, too, but she couldn't see anything out of the ordinary.

"It seems I have more unexpected guests," said Kinsale pleasantly. Shortly after she had finished speaking, bells and alarms began sounding from everywhere and nowhere in particular, and Rose yelped in fright. Not a second later, Maleficent appeared in a burst of green flame, which caused Rose to clutch at her heart in terrified surprise.

"What in Hell's name is that disdainful noise?" she snapped at Kinsale.

Kinsale seemed remarkably unconcerned. She rolled her eyes waved her hands, and the noises were replaced by deafening silence. "Excuse me," she said. She touched two fingers to her throat and then, as she had when Maleficent and Rose had arrived, bellowed "WHO GOES THERE?"

The voice which responded came, as Kinsale's amplified voice and the alarm sounds had, from nowhere and everywhere all at once. It resonated in Briar Rose's head and heart and she felt as if there were no escape to be had, for the voice occupied every corner of the room and of her mind.

"Mistress Kinsale of the Valley? This is Mistress Flora of the Three Kingdoms. We have never met before, but my sisters and I have come on an errand of the utmost importance. Can you spare us a few moments?"


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** Reworked, mostly so it follows with the new version of the last chapter! And not too much longer this time!

* * *

**Chapter 6 — The Unwelcome**

Rose wanted to cry. She clasped a hand over her mouth and blinked furiously against an overwhelming onslaught of tears. Kinsale and Maleficent both eyed her curiously.

"I—I can't—oh, I...please, I can't talk to them, not yet..."

Kinsale put one finger of her free hand to her lips in a shushing motion, then said, for the benefit of her visitors, "Mistress Flora, it will be a pleasure to make your acquaintance, I'm sure. Please come in."

She removed her hand from her throat. "To be clear, Princess Aurora, what you want is time, yes? I can lead them off your trail if that's what you want."

Rose was too overcome to do anything but to nod. Kinsale descended the small staircase and exited the mail room. The sound of the door closing was followed by the click of a lock, and yet there was none on the door.

One the one hand, Rose felt extremely guilty for continuing to allow her aunts to search for her, and to believe she was in danger. On the other hand, what if she was in danger? What if this was her only chance at a rescue, and she was allowing Kinsale to lead her aunts off of her trail.

But she couldn't talk to them—not now, not yet. Not when she was just beginning to grasp at something like freedom. If she looked at them, if she spoke to them, she wouldn't be able to fight off her guilt, and she would return with them, and once she was back in King Stefan's castle, she was fairly certain there would be no leaving again. This reminder of the confining destiny of Princess Aurora caused Briar Rose to fall into hysterics anew, and she found it difficult to catch her breath.

To top it all off, Rose was still exhausted, and she felt she must look like a mess. She shoved tangled handfuls of her hair away from her face as she wiped the tears away, and she noted vaguely that Maleficent was glancing around the room uncomfortably. "I—I'm...s-s-sorry," she managed, clutching at her heart and covering her face.

"Is there something I can do?" Maleficent asked, more to the ceiling than to anything else.

Rose tried and failed to stop crying, and she sat upon Kinsale's windowsill for support. "I just wish I could...I don't know, comb my hair!" she wailed helplessly. At least that seemed like a problem that could be solved.

Maleficent looked at her, eyebrows raised. "Ah," she said. She reached her hand up into the air and pulled a lovely silver comb out of nowhere, which she tossed to Rose.

Rose caught the comb with a small murmur of surprise and examined it—it was, like most things Maleficent owned, exquisitely detailed, and it distracted her somewhat from her distress. "Did you just make this?" she asked after a moment.

"No, I never leave home without my invisible storage cabinets," Rose looked up and found that Maleficent was smirking. "Of course I made it."

Rose looked away at nothing in particular as she flipped her long hair over one shoulder and began working at the ends. "Thank you for the comb," she said. Already she felt oddly soothed by the mindless activity. "What...what do you suppose Kinsale will say to them?"

Maleficent, who appeared to be contemplating Kinsale's writing desk, waved her hand absently in the direction of the door.

"…originally wanted to speak to you about, if you don't mind?" Rose gazed awe-struck at Maleficent, who continued to ignore her.

"Of course, of course," Kinsale replied, much of the warmth drained from her voice.

Do you know a Mistress Maleficent?" It was so odd to hear Flora's voice again, and it made Rose feel sick to her stomach. This was the only incarnation of Flora Rose had encountered in some time. Flora was doing her job, strictly business, no time for emotions anymore.

"Yes, why do you ask?" Rose was stricken by the change in Kinsale's demeanour: she did not necessarily sound unfriendly, but there was a certain edge to her tone, not unlike the manner in which Maleficent often spoke.

"Maleficent recently caused a great deal of trouble in the Kingdom of the East—are you aware of that?"

"Hmm," Kinsale took her time to respond, "I know she cursed King Stefan's baby a few years ago, but I was told the princess was quite all right. Is there something else?"

Rose wondered if her beloved Aunt Flora had been as chilled as Rose was by Kinsale's cavalier attitude toward Maleficent's curse.

She heard Flora sigh, "Quite all right, indeed. Maleficent's curse broke that poor little girl. She couldn't tell up from down by the time she got to the castle. And her poor husband! Could hardly bear to be around her, she was so confused all the time."

Maleficent was still inspecting what appeared to be a small scratch in Kinsale's desk. Rose felt herself beginning to cry again, and though she tried to keep herself together, she wanted to argue with Flora, and at the same time agree with Flora, and at the same time argue with Maleficent, and at the same time, seek comfort with her, and she only succeeded in confusing herself even further.

Perhaps the Sleeping Curse had broken her. How would she know? She was only her, after all.

"So after Prince Philip of the North defeated Maleficent, we locked her in the dungeon in case she recovered, and by some dark means, she did," Flora paused, as if expecting some response.

Kinsale chuckled lightly, "Yes, well, it is rather difficult to be rid of a wicked fairy forever. Tell me, how is it you kept her in a dungeon after her recovery?"

"I acquired the Chains of Avasina from Mistress Felicity," Flora responded, as though that were a non-issue. "At any rate, the Chains did not work."

"The Chains always work," Kinsale replied. "Did Felicity make them? Her magic alone could not restrain someone as powerful as Maleficent."

"No, Felicity did not _make_ them," Flora spat with a little huff of frustration. "She got them from someone in the Mountainlands—a specialist of magical artifacts."

"Oh," said Kinsale, her voice tinged with amusement, "well, then, they should have worked. What makes you think they didn't?"

"Maleficent somehow enchanted the Princess Aurora to come down to the dungeons and free her."

"I see," said Kinsale, as though this were a revelation. Were all wicked fairies such seamless liars?

Maleficent finally looked up from whatever imaginary imperfection she was examining, apparently considering this interpretation of what had happened. "I suppose that makes sense," she said quietly.

Rose wiped at her eyes with her sleeve. "I'm such a coward."

"How do you mean?" asked Maleficent. She didn't sound particularly interested, but Rose would take it.

"Hiding from them," she said. "They're only trying to help me."

"They're trying to get you back to where they think you belong," Maleficent replied, but she still wasn't looking at Rose.

Rose shook her head. "That can't be true," she said, then bit her lip for a second. "Well, not entirely, anyway. They think I'm in danger. And...you seem remarkably unconcerned," she added, her brow furrowing.

Maleficent tilted her head, contemplating this. "I admit I don't mind the notion of wasting a bit of their precious time," she said with a hint of a smirk.

"—and then she disappeared and took the princess with her!" Flora finished her heated explanation.

"Oh, my," said Kinsale.

"I am glad you see our point of view," said Flora kindly, as though to a child. "Now, we should very much like to find Maleficent before she has done any more harm to that poor girl. Do you have any idea where she might be?"

Kinsale thought for a moment, "I'm afraid I haven't seen Maleficent in many years. She once spent a bit of time in the Mountainlands, but aside from the Three Kingdoms, she's never stayed in one place for too long. I'm sorry I can't be of more help."

"Where are the Mountainlands?" Rose asked.

"Very far away," said Maleficent quietly. "North of the Sea Kingdom. Assuming they buy it, you might have more time than you bargained for."

"Do you by any chance know what Maleficent's connection to the Kingdom between Two Rivers might be?" asked Flora.

"The Kingdom between Two Rivers," Kinsale repeated slowly, as if contemplating. "Is that the one with the Dragon Country?"

"That's the one," said Flora.

"Well, that's the only connection that comes to mind. Maleficent is a very talented shapeshifter, you know."

"All too well," Flora sighed sadly. "Thank you for what information you could give. We'd best be on our way."

Rose swallowed the lump forming in her throat. Flora thought she was in danger. Flora was trying to help her. And what was Rose doing? Not only hiding, but hiding with the enemy.

"If it's any consolation to you," said Kinsale, "I sincerely doubt that Maleficent would harm the girl."

"What makes you say that?" Flora asked, instantly suspicious.

"Well, enchantment or no, the princess did save Maleficent's life by releasing her, am I correct in thinking that?"

"Well…yes…but…"

"All I am saying is that I doubt Maleficent would be so quick to harm the girl if that is the case."

"Mistress Kinsale," Flora began in the voice which suggested a long lecture would soon follow, "with all due respect, I do not take any comfort in the fact that Aurora is in the hands of that monster who tried to _murder_ her. I am told your kind can have compassion, but I have yet to see any in any of you."

"With all due respect, Mistress Flora," Kinsale echoed, her words clipped, "That isn't my concern. Good day."

"What do you mean by that?" Merryweather's voice came ringing through the door and Rose cringed.

"Good day, ladies."

"You're hiding something," Merryweather said. "You know where they are!"

Rose's heart wrenched in her chest and she cast a searching gaze upon Maleficent, who was still not looking at her. Rose didn't want to be found. If she couldn't face them before, she certainly couldn't face them now, coward that she was.

"I know nothing of the sort," Kinsale replied evenly.

"That's a lie! You're full of lies, all of you!"

Maleficent, probably sensing Rose's eyes upon her, glanced over at her.

"You don't mind?" Rose asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Maleficent quirked one eyebrow. "Mind what?"

"—Mistress Merryweather, calm yourself—"

"—You know where they are! Admit it!—"

Rose stood on shaky legs, hands clasped to her heart in a vain effort to ease the way it pounded. "You don't mind...if I stay?"

"—Admit it!"

"Now, Merryweather..." Flora chided. "But Mistress Kinsale, if you did know something—"

As Rose approached Maleficent, she saw that familiar glint in her eye, which suggested something like unease.

"Do what you want to do, Briar Rose," said Maleficent. "I'm not going to stop you."

Rose averted her eyes, again stricken by the delightful absurdity of Maleficent's words. _Do what you want to do_.

"—You know where she is! You know! You know and you won't tell!"

"I wish I could say that this has been a pleasant meeting, but it has not," said Mistress Kinsale. "Please be on your way."

Rose glanced back at the door from whence the echoes of her beloved aunts' voices came. She ought to tell them. She couldn't run from them forever, and it was cruel to allow them to keep looking for her when she was doing this of her own free will.

She covered her face with her hands and let out a shuddering sigh. "I am such a coward," she whispered.

She couldn't face them because she didn't know what to say. She didn't know how to make them understand. And she couldn't bear to see the look of confusion or disappointment or pity or who knew what else on their faces when she tried. And then, what if they continued to chase after her, thinking she'd lost her mind? What if they sent an army after Maleficent to set her free from some imagined prison?

Rose looked back at Maleficent, who regarded her with some curiosity. She remembered what Maleficent had said...that she should be clear about what she thought and felt...that she should do what she wanted to do. What Rose wanted now was comfort. She clearly couldn't comfort herself, and Merryweather yelling for her was making Rose sick to her stomach with a dreadful mixture of fear and guilt. Averting her eyes once more, Rose held out her hand to Maleficent.

"Shhh, Merryweather, that's enough," said Flora.

"They're all protecting their own, Flora. We can't play like this. She knows! She knows!"

"Merryweather!"

"But Flora—!"

"ENOUGH." This voice was Kinsale's.

Maleficent took Rose's hand, just by the fingertips. Maleficent's hand was not precisely large, but she had unusually long fingers, and they were icy cold. Her skin was soft, but it seemed to be stretched to its limits over the bones of those long, elegant fingers, which made her hand seem hard and unyielding. Rose squeezed Maleficent's hand and felt a bit better about the whole situation, though she was not feeling quite confident enough to meet Maleficent's eyes.

"If I knew anything," Kinsale began—and Rose turned her head back to the door, for the entire essence of Kinsale's voice had altered from that of a gracious party host to that of a creature to be feared, "why In the world would I tell you?"

Rose clasped Maleficent's hand between both of her own, clutching to it in terror at what she heard. A whooshing sound could be heard, like that of rushing water, growing steadily in volume. "Begone!" Kinsale's voice bellowed over the noise just before it swelled to a peak and then became nothingness.

Rose felt a small spark of energy pass through her hands and withdrew them, examining them for the source of the pain. "Ouch!"

But it was Maleficent who exclaimed thusly. She shook both of her hands for several seconds. "My spell went out. I wonder what Kinsale did."

"She didn't hurt them, did she?" Rose asked fearfully as the door opened to reveal a slightly ruffled version of the sorceress in question.

"No, no," said Kinsale with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Just removed them from the premises. My sincerest apologies—I fear my temper got the better of me."

"Yes, well, you wouldn't be the first," Maleficent said.

"Were you close to the Good Fairies, Aurora?" asked Kinsale.

Rose bit her lip, unable to put her feelings toward her aunts into words. "They raised me ever since I was a baby," she said softly. "But they also lied to me about...about so many things, and they expected, I mean...I..." she shook her head sadly and put a hand to her mouth in an effortto stifle more conflicted tears.

"Well, they clearly care for you quite a bit."

Rose nodded silently.

"Anyway, who knows where they'll be headed next, but if they should make their way to the Dragon Country, you're of course welcome to come back and visit if you'd prefer to avoid the confrontation."

Kinsale asked if they would like to stay the night, but Rose and Maleficent seemed to have an unspoken understanding that they would like to go to the place they called home, and so to that strange new place they soon went. Kinsale playfully chided Maleficent for not visiting her often enough, cheerfully repeated to Rose that she should write whenever she felt like it, and then bid them goodbye.

* * *

Left to her own devices as she usually was, Rose sat in the room of Maleficent's sister, slowly making progress in her discovery of Mistress Acacia's life story.

Acacia was described as a small, willowy person with pale bluish-green skin and grey eyes. She was well-liked by her fellow wicked fairies, perhaps because she was not particularly powerful or ambitious. In fact, some described her as a simpleton who had little understanding of the magic she possessed. This was particularly interesting in contrast to the scourge Acacia was made out to be by Mistress Sara and the other good fairies of the surrounding lands. The vast majority of sane-minded wicked fairies, wrote Mistress Kinsale, found Acacia to be perfectly intelligent and charming, but, understandably, reserved, given her precarious situation in the Kingdom by the Sea.

There was a footnote which said, "It is worthwhile to note that the available pool of sane-minded wicked fairies is not a large one." Rose smiled.

She thought back upon her meeting with Mistress Kinsale. She'd found Kinsale even more fascinating than terrifying, and there was something to be said for someone with whom Rose did not find conversation difficult.

The good fairies were chatty, certainly, but the problems there were many and varied. Ever since the revelation of their many untruths, Rose could scarcely bear to speak to them at all. Philip barely deigned to talk to her, let alone to listen to anything she said in response, and everyone else in the castle was under strict orders not to bother her too much with company, because they all thought her so fragile.

In this bizarre new world in which Rose found herself, she'd felt at first that she was even more alone than she had been in her youth, before she knew that she was a different person with some higher purpose to fulfill. Maleficent was a veritable fountain of interesting conversation topics when she chose to be, but when she decided, for whatever reason, that she did not want to talk, she was a woman of very few words, indeed. Rose didn't mind keeping herself company on most occasions, for she'd grown very accustomed to her loneliness over the past sixteen years, but lately, her mind had been such a mess of conflicting information that she could use a more light-hearted conversational distraction from time to time.

Rose hoped that Kinsale was serious in her request for mail, for Rose hoped to write her as soon as she could think of anything at all to say.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed another book which she did not remember seeing on the end table a few minutes earlier. It was a large, blue volume titled _The Big Book of Spells, Volume II_. Momentarily exhausted with the wordy text of _Mistress Acacia_, Rose put her book aside and reached for the book of spells Maleficent had given her to destroy if she so chose.

She knew it made no logical sense that the book should frighten her so. The item itself wasn't magical.

With this in mind, she dared to open the book to the first page. Changing the colour of objects. Rose was hit once again with the near-painful juxtaposition of wanting to laugh and cry at the same time when faced with this particular memory. The spell part made little sense to her, and so she kept flipping pages, images of her wedding dress dancing in her head. Baking cookies of various types, sewing, wrapping gifts, growing flowers...

"You could learn, you know," said Maleficent and Rose abruptly dropped the book.

"What?" she asked, mildly panicked.

"Magic," said Maleficent. She seemed confused by Rose's reaction. "You could learn," she repeated.

"I—I don't—" Rose tried to calm her breathing. "That's not possible. It's not."

Maleficent tilted her head, "If it were impossible, why would I tell you that it is possible?"

Rose averted her eyes. "But it isn't. And I don't want to…even if I could, which I can't, I wouldn't want to learn magic. Magic only complicates things."

"As you wish," said Maleficent. "Though without any knowledge of magic, I can't see how The Big Book of Spells isn't the driest read imaginable. Would you like to have a cup of tea with me?"

Rose nodded and lit from the bed, eager for a change in the course of the conversation. "You have extensive knowledge of magic and you still found it to be the driest read imaginable."

"I read it because I sought information," Maleficent replied. "It's an unusual sort of person who flips through a beginner's academic text for fun."

"Well, it's not as though you stock a lot of light reading."

"You know," said Maleficent over her shoulders as they walked down the stairs, "one option to consider is that you could ask me whether I stock any light reading."

"I assumed that your idea of light reading and mine might differ," Rose replied, her eyes planted firmly on the uneven steps in front of her.

"Perhaps, but it would save you a bit of time looking, wouldn't it?"

"I don't have much else to do."

"Not to mention, needless accusations against my taste in literature."

Rose scoffed, "I bet you find Mistress Acacia to be light reading."

"It is a children's book…"

This caused her to look up in surprise, "What sort of children?"

"Wicked fairy children." Maleficent waved her hand in the general direction of the tea table. "I suppose it's not strictly for children, but that is its target audience. Ask Kinsale if you don't believe me."

"Perhaps when I ask, I'll request a bit of light reading as well."

"You think Kinsale, the famous writer, is less fond of dense literature than I am? I find that illogical."

"I think Kinsale, the famous writer, might be more attuned to the needs of a less educated reader than you, for example."

Maleficent chuckled. "Fair point," she said as they sat at the tea table she had assembled.

Rose barely avoided gaping openly—had she actually won? Well, she supposed it wasn't quite like that. Their banter hadn't actually been confrontational. Rose felt fairly calm, which was the only real indicator she could come up with to back this conjecture. Maleficent never seemed even remotely perturbed by most of their altercations. Still, it certainly felt like a minor victory. Rose smiled.

"Is something on your mind?" Maleficent asked, probably in response to Rose's inexplicable grin.

Rose shook her head, but her smile widened. "The tea is delicious—what's in it?"

"Ginger," Maleficent responded with a raised eyebrow. Several moments passed in relative silence, for Rose could not stop smiling, and Maleficent did her best to avoid making eye contact.

"So tell me," said Maleficent at last, "how do you find Mistress Kinsale?"

"You were right—she is fascinating," Aurora responded. She felt as though she ought to be picking her words carefully, but had no idea why or how to do so. "Not at all what I was expecting."

Maleficent chuckled lightly, "What were you expecting? Someone more like me?"

Rose shrugged, embarrassed. "I suppose."

"You may learn in time that we are both rather unusual for our species," she responded.

Rose bit her lip for a moment before she decided to speak. "I hope you won't take this the wrong way, but Kinsale is so….friendly. I mean, you are very kind, and very polite and well-mannered, but…it's not as though you don't seem dangerous. Sometimes the things Kinsale says seem a bit...off...but I find it difficult to imagine her harming anyone. One could forget that she was a wicked creature at all."

Maleficent nodded serenely, apparently not offended by Rose's assessment. "One could argue that Kinsale's brand of wickedness is the most malicious of all—because she actively chooses not to make her quite formidable power apparent."

"Oh," Rose considered this. "I suppose that's true."

"I am not implying that Kinsale's entire personality is a ploy to draw in the unsuspecting victim. Kinsale also genuinely likes other people. I am merely stating that it would be a grave error to believe her to be harmless."

"Noted," Rose responded.

Rose wanted her next question to be _who is Adara_, but something stopped her. She remembered how tense Maleficent had been when the subject was discussed, and also that Kinsale had dismissed her theory as nonsense. She doubted Maleficent wanted to talk about that just now.

"I'm curious," said Maleficent after another silence, "you say you don't read very well, but oughtn't the good fairies to have taught you?"

Rose averted her gaze. "They tried…I just never thought I would have any use for it."

"Forgive me if this is a topic you don't wish to discuss, but I wonder why they felt the need to keep your identity a secret from you. You did as they asked and never spoke to strangers, did you not?"

Rose concentrated on her tea. "Well…yes. Apart from the one time, with Philip. But in my defense, he did pester me quite a bit before I spoke to him."

"You rarely even saw other people to whom you might speak, am I correct?"

"Well. Yes."

"Then why is it you couldn't know?"

Rose considered this for many very upsetting moments. She gave the best answer she could think of. "I think they thought I'd be frightened, knowing that someone was after me."

"I suppose they could have left that part out. 'You're a princess, and your name is Aurora, but that's a secret. We'll tell you why when you're older.' What's the matter with that?"

"Perhaps that I'd think my parents didn't want me," she offered feebly, half-remembering something Fauna had told her. "They thought I'd be traumatized in some way."

"And yet the trauma you experienced upon finding out that your entire life was a lie was none of their concern?"

"They thought I'd be happy," she said, but this was not said in their defense. She felt that new emotion she'd only recently learned she could feel—surging, sickening anger.

"It is every girl's dream, is it not? To be a princess, marry a handsome prince, have her every whim attended to?"

Rose looked up. Her face was flushed and her eyes stung, welling with tears for the third or fourth time that day—Rose had lost count. "It isn't mine," she shot back. "It wasn't like that. I didn't just want to meet a prince and fall in love and…and…become a princess! It was only a silly little dream, like the fairy tales I read. I wanted to meet someone—anyone! Princes—charming, handsome, romantic princes—were the most strange and foreign thing from my own life that I could imagine! That's all! _I did not want this_!"

Maleficent's expression remained neutral. "Who are you trying to convince, Briar Rose?"

"You!" Rose replied incredulously. "You're the one goading me, aren't you?"

Maleficent's lips curled up into a small smile. "Yes, but I believe you."

Rose stared at her for several seconds. "You what?"

"I know you didn't want any of it. I think perhaps you feel guilty because you think a small part of you did want it at some point. We cannot be held accountable for the things we wanted when we didn't know better."

Rose swallowed. "Oh," she managed. "Then why were you…?"

"Goading you?"

"Yes."

Maleficent shrugged. "I enjoy it. And I get the feeling you might enjoy it, as well."

"Enjoy what? Arguing?"

"Matching wits."

Rose gave a derisive snort. "As though anyone could match wits with you. Let alone me."

"Until I met you, I hadn't had a proper argument in decades. After I acquired a certain reputation, all of my interactions began boiling down to me attempting to make arguments and the other party snarling senseless obscenities. It's really been quite dull."

Rose hadn't considered that. "Where did you even learn to argue so well? You always have countless things to say and I can never think of a proper response."

"Well, I did have two older sisters."

Rose decided to press her luck. "What were they like? I don't even know their names."

Maleficent's smile fell, but she answered. "The eldest, Seraphina, is the one whose clothes you borrow. She was spirited, contentious, mischievous…sort of what you would expect of a wicked fairy. My middle sister is the one whose room you now occupy, and her name was Acacia."

Rose gasped.

"Perhaps I ought to have mentioned that when I said she was fond of Kinsale's book. At any rate, Acacia was soft-spoken and sensitive, and that got her into quite a bit of trouble."

"How so?"

"She was bullied mercilessly…by my mother, by Seraphina, and by all of the other wicked fairies of our generation."

"Did she get along with Kinsale?"

Maleficent averted her eyes. "They never met. Though she did this…" Maleficent raised her right hand and, out of thin air, a book appeared. This one had a light blue cover which was In perfect condition. On the cover was inscribed _Mistress Acacia_ accompanied by an ink drawing of what was presumably the sorceress herself.

"This is the second edition of the book which Kinsale released after she had achieved considerable fame. It was also around the time I told her about my late sister." Maleficent opened the book to the title page and handed it to Rose.

_Dedicated to the late Mistress Acacia of the Dragon Country  
and to her loving sister_

Rose bit her lip and tried to ignore the surprising tears welling in her eyes. "That's…very sweet," she managed quietly.

"I thought so," said Maleficent.

Several moments of silence passed as Rose gazed at the dedication. Finally, she gained enough control of herself to hand the book back to Maleficent, who filed it away into nothingness.

* * *

_The Big Book of Spells, Volume II_ wasn't dedicated to anyone. There were numerous authors, all good fairies with bright, smiling faces who appeared to be about the same age as Rose's faux aunts. The final spell in the book was on how to enchant knitting needles. Rose had not seen a pair of knitting needles until she had come to King Stefan's castle. Fauna had taken up magical knitting again and noted how much the activity soothed her, though to Rose it appeared she was only watching a pair of needles knit and not actually contributing anything except for the initial spell.

Rose could not understand any of the actual spell words; she merely read the various introductory lines for the spells which changed direction and type of stitch. Idly, she ran her finger over what appeared to her to be illegible chicken scratch. She wondered what the words said. How were they pronounced?

She wondered what the spells in Maleficent's books looked like. Were they longer? Or the same length, but more complex? What did the spell which had sentenced her to death look like? What about the spell which turned Maleficent into a fearsome dragon? The spell she had used to grow a forest of thorns around the king's castle?

She thought back to the conversation she had overheard between Flora and Mistress Kinsale and considered those spells. The spell someone used to create the Chains of Avasina, the spell created to enchant the sword which had almost killed Maleficent, the spell Merryweather used to put Rose to sleep instead of to death.

To her they all looked like blots of unintelligible ink, and yet these sketches of meaninglessness had shaped her entire life.

Rose flipped back through the book, stopping on random pages. How to bake a cake, how to enchant a broom, how to change someone's fate, it didn't matter what the pages might say. By chance, these women had been given a power which Rose and countless others had not, and because of that chance, they were free to play everyone else like pawns in one massive, relentless game of chess.

Rose landed upon and proceeded to glare at the title page. She thought of all of the ills that had befallen her because of ostensibly harmless magic and before she could even consider what she was doing, she ripped the page right out of the book.

The next page was a picture of Mistress Hilda of the Mountainlands, who reminded her a bit of Flora. She ripped that one out, too, and threw it across the room. Such was the fate of the other seven or eight sickly sweet smiling faces of the authors of the book.

Changing the colour of objects—rip! Baking a cake—rip! Growing a daisy, enchanting a feather duster, making a sock—rip, rip, rip!

Rose felt a kind of manic joy as she continued tearing out pages. Sometimes she ripped them further into tiny pieces and blew them from her hand. Sometimes she crumpled several pages up together and threw them at various things. Sometimes she folded them into pretty designs, sat them on the bed in front of her, and then smashed them with her fist before tossing them aside. Every bit of pent-up anger she felt toward the good fairies, her lost parents, Philip, and magic as a whole she took out on that book of simple spells. At last—and this gave her the greatest joy of all—she heaved the book's cover—now devoid of pages—directly at the bedroom door, where it made a resounding _thud_.

Seconds later, three gentle knocks sounded from the other side of the door. Rose choked. She could not say anything.

A moment later, the door slowly creaked open and Maleficent appeared. She glanced around the room with a neutral expression. Rose held her breath.

Finally, Maleficent said quietly, "You know, I had intended to learn how to enchant knitting needles. Now I'll have to track down another copy."

Rose winced, and she found her voice at last. "Really? Oh, I am so sorry—it's just, you said…I got so angry, I just…but I am so sorry. I can find the section on knitting needles, I can…" she trailed off when she realized Maleficent was chuckling quietly.

"The Eastern Kingdom has never learned to appreciate my sense of humour," she said. "First of all," she held out her hand and several papers from various places about the room came flying toward her. A couple of them were in pieces which reassembled themselves before Rose's eyes before they neatly stacked themselves and fell into Maleficent's waiting hand, "here it is. Second, not only can I enchant knitting needles, I can conjure up a pair. I only said that because it was the only thing I could remember reading in this nonsense book."

An idea seemed to strike Maleficent, and she pulled from the air what appeared to be a long match. She blew upon the match and it caught fire—a magical green flame Rose had heard about and, she realized with a start, witnessed earlier today. Maleficent held the match out to her.

Rose did not move.

"Don't worry," Maleficent said, apparently still in a joking mood. "I can teach you if you ever decide you want to learn. No need to read this drivel."

When Rose began to breathe once more, she realized that she was trembling. She inched herself to the edge of the bed and placed the tips of her toes on the floor, her eyes fixed on the eerie green flame.

"You know you want to," said Maleficent, her voice soft, gentle, and dreamy. Rose began to fall under the spell of that beautiful voice, the one she had heard so often in her dreams, but when she hit her knee on the corner of the bed, she leaned down to catch herself and the spell was momentarily broken.

"Quite the sorceress you fancy yourself," said Rose, aiming a look of displeasure at Maleficent.

Maleficent chuckled again. Her good mood was not to be thwarted this evening. "Come now," she said in her usual voice, "I promise not to tease you about wishing I had the book back. Additionally, this room is a mess."

Rose considered the green flame. She couldn't see any harm in it…she had already ripped up the book, after all. She took the last few steps to where Maleficent stood and took the match from her. The flame dimmed and she felt a small surge of…something…in her hand which surprised her so much that she almost dropped the match. Her other hand swooped up to steady her grasp, though, and then the tiny, dim flame stabilized.

"As I suspected," Maleficent said quietly.

"What?" Rose breathed.

"You have magic."


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** Reworked! And retitled! No major changes, just some tweaking.

* * *

**Chapter 7 — The Redirection**

Dear Aurora,

What a thrill to receive your letter! I dearly hoped you would take my offer of correspondence seriously, and I am so glad to hear that you continue to find Mistress Acacia's story an engaging one.

This may not be apparent to you as a non-fairy reader, but it is not unusual for wicked fairy mothers to murder their children. It happens most often shortly after birth, for the mother finds that she is physically and emotionally unable to care for the child, and this is, more often than not, an accident. Almost as common is around the time the child is fifteen to twenty, and has really begun to show magical promise. The mother becomes jealous, paranoid that her child will usurp her power, and she attacks before the child is able to properly defend herself. This should explain to you why Mistress Cordelia's many children left the Kingdom by the Sea as soon as they were able.

At the time of the book's first publication, I did conclude that Mistress Acacia must have been infertile, for she had a handful of lovers throughout her relatively short lifetime and none of those unions resulted in children. Even given her mother's obvious fertility as you noted, it is probable that Acacia was not particularly healthy, which would also explain why she could not take the advice of her siblings and leave the Kingdom by the Sea to keep herself safe from Cordelia's wrath. However, many years later, a team of wicked fairies were allowed to investigate the grounds of her former castle, where they found the decayed remains of an infant of unknown species. It's possible that Acacia did give birth to a child and managed to keep it a secret, but it's also possible that the bones belonged to someone else's child. There's a more detailed section on this mystery in the new edition of the book, of which Maleficent has a copy, if it interests you.

You seem very conflicted about the discovery of your magical ability, but it should not surprise you. All royal children are blessed at their christenings with gifts of magic from all of the good fairies in the land. If nothing has gone amiss in your family history, magic has been in your blood for generations. For this reason, almost all people of royal descent are predisposed to have limited magical ability. As you've been touched by Maleficent's magic since your conception, you're likely to have considerably more power at your disposal than most of your kin.

Good fairy spells look like gibberish to me, too, actually. It's always baffled me that Maleficent can read and use them just fine. After many years of study, I can still scarcely make them out at all. I've never used one for fear it might go horribly wrong. Perhaps you ought to take a look at a wicked fairy spell? Unsurprisingly, there isn't a _Big Book of Spells_ for wicked fairies, as basic spells are generally passed down from mother to child; however, most families keep a small notebook of basic spells scribbled down in case something dreadful should happen. You could ask Maleficent to take a look at hers if you're interested, but the more useful ones have been published.

As to the moral conflict you seem to be expressing, I realize that you must feel utterly victimized by the users of magic in your life, and I can understand how you would want nothing to do with the force which has harmed you so much. An argument could be made that magic is a tragically unnecessary complication in our lives; however, we cannot deny it from existence. I'm not certain what your intentions are, but you must know that if you continue to live among fairies, magic will always be a threat to you. It's true that you could find yourself some secluded, non-magical corner of the world in which to live out your life free of the stuff, but I imagine another move to a place full of unfamiliar faces would be very lonely indeed, and even that would be no guarantee of your freedom from magic forever.

If, however, you intend for any length of time to remain in the midst of the likes of Maleficent and me, we and our kin have an unfair advantage over you. You will always require the protection of someone with magical ability in order to do anything or go anywhere without putting your life in imminent danger. Would it not be in your best interest to attempt to level the playing field? My advice to you would be to learn some defensive magic for your own safety. Then you won't actually be using magic to do anything except to protect yourself, and as an added bonus, you'll be able to protect yourself.

Additionally, you'll get Maleficent off your back. I'm sure you feel that she's trying to manipulate you into using magic when you don't want to, but I assure you it's only that she hates to see a talent go to waste. I applaud you for holding out—she can be quite exhausting when she wants something. I'm sure I don't need to tell you this, but if you do decide to pursue magic, certainly with Maleficent, but most especially with anyone else, make certain that it's always on your terms.

Oh, I almost forgot! While it's true that Mistress Acacia's story is intended for fairy children, it was rather unfair of her not to note that fairies are considered children quite a bit longer than humans are. The typical readership of _Mistress Acacia_ is only a bit younger than you are.

I am delighted to offer you some suggestions of a similar reading level, but I fear I don't know just what will strike your fancy! Mistress Hilda of the Mountainlands, in addition to her numerous contributions to the _Big Book of Spells_ series, wrote a handful of biographies aimed at younger readers, all detailing the lives of the great good fairies: Mistresses Terra or Gianna might interest you. She also wrote one on Mistress Sara, but I find her later works to be unforgivably biased. I'm afraid I have the market cornered on wicked fairy biographies, but I imagine Maleficent has a copy of Mistress Joy, which you might find worthwhile. Mistress Konstanze of the Black Forest writes lovely fiction—mostly love stories. I doubt Maleficent has any of those, so I'm sending along a couple of my favourites.

Please let me know which ones you like! I hope to hear from you again soon!

Warm regards,

Kinsale

Mistress Kinsale's handwriting was neat and easy to read. Without her intimidating, slightly discomfiting presence, it was easy for Rose to think of her words as warm and friendly, and of her concern as genuine. Rose felt that she somehow knew Kinsale through her writing, if she didn't perhaps fully understand her in person, and Kinsale's letter endeared her to Rose quite a bit more than their first meeting had.

Kinsale's words made perfect sense to Rose, and she had addressed the concerns weighing most heavily on Rose's mind with surprising accuracy. Though she wanted to be unnerved by this, Rose found it somehow comforting that Kinsale could offer Rose some helpful insight into a decision she'd already known deep inside that she must make.

* * *

"Merryweather, I'm surprised at you," Fauna spoke for the first time that afternoon.

"She knows. She knows where they are," Merryweather replied, her voice broken.

Fauna patted her shoulder. "Perhaps, dear, but—"

Flora interrupted her irritably. "But now that we've made ourselves so unwelcome in her house, we're not going to get that information, are we?"

Merryweather humphed. "What would you have us do? Follow her advice and go on a wild goose chase through the Mountainlands because some old wicked fairy said so?"

"What if it were useful information, hmm? What if Maleficent really is in the Mountainlands waiting for us?"

"Oh, what if?"

"Now that we know Mistress Kinsale is most likely on Maleficent's side—"

"_Most likely_? She's a wicked fairy—I could have saved you this whole trip…"

"—we know that we ought not to go to the Mountainlands until we're prepared."

"What about the Kingdom between Two Rivers?" asked Fauna.

"She didn't seem to know much about it," Flora replied with a shake of her head. "It isn't high on our list—there aren't any good fairies there that I know of. Speaking of which, we'd best get to Felicity. She'll be expecting us."

Mistress Kinsale lived in the deepest part of the valley for which the kingdom was named. Mistress Felicity, her sisters, and occasionally a few other good fairies of moderate repute inhabited a small circle of dwellings at the top of a hill. Fauna secretly hoped that the fairies from the Mountainlands were not visiting at the moment, as they had been on her last visit. She found them utterly terrifying.

Felicity's security system was not quite what Mistress Kinsale's was. The three fairy sisters simply flew up to her front door and knocked.

"Flora!" cried Mistress Felicity with a wide smile. "What a pleasure to see you again—come in! Fauna, Merryweather," she said as an afterthought.

Mistress Felicity was of average height, about a head taller than Flora, and her figure was slender. Her hair was long and blonde, and whenever she appeared anywhere in the public eye she let it down and enchanted it to flow elegantly around her. However, as Flora and her sisters could have attested ages ago, long, thick curls were no one's friend on a day to day basis, and Felicity was not so vain that she did not keep her hair tied back under normal circumstances.

In addition to being far more powerful than the three of them combined, she was also at least a century younger than Merryweather, which made it all the more amusing for Fauna and Merryweather to watch Flora attempt to be genuinely nice to her.

"Felicity, dear, thank you so much for meeting with us on such short notice!" Flora gushed as Felicity ushered them into her sitting room.

"Not at all, Flora. Your definition of short notice is my sisters' definition of planning ahead. Please, sit! Will you ladies have anything to drink? Tea?"

"That would be lovely," Flora answered for all of them.

As she spoke, Felicity conjured up a tea set complete with steaming tea. "Now, what is the nature of your visit, Flora? I've been expecting to see the Three Kingdoms declare a Golden Age for at least a couple of months now."

"Unfortunately, we are still under threat from a wicked fairy—an uncommonly powerful one, evidently. The Chains of Avasina failed to contain her."

Felicity frowned and the three sisters noted that her eyes took on a strange glow. "Failed? The Chains never fail."

Flora waved her hand, "So we've been told. Explain to me how else Mistress Maleficent bewitched Stefan's daughter into setting her free."

The way Flora spoke, it was as though the words had lost their meaning to her. Perhaps she'd said them so many times that the image of sweet Rose being deceived by frighteningly cunning Maleficent no longer haunted her as she recounted the event.

Felicity's eyes widened. "What happened? Is the princess all right?"

"Who knows?" Flora cried angrily. "Maleficent disappeared and took Aurora with her."

"Oh no," Felicity said, putting a hand to her heart. "I am terribly sorry, Flora. I had no idea Maleficent had grown to be that powerful."

"I thought I made that rather clear at our last meeting," Flora said unhappily.

"Not that she was too powerful to be contained by the magic of the Mountainland Fairies. Mistress Sara will want to know about this."

"Mistress Sara? But why?"

"The Mountainland Fairies are the strongest fairies living on Earth. If Maleficent will not yield to them, Sara will want to know."

"Well, that's the reason we've come to see you."

"Oh, I see. I can try to get you a meeting with Sara, but I'm not very high in the ranks. I rather thought you would have an easier time of it. Perhaps you ought to try someone else?"

"No, no, we were hoping to assemble a force to go after Maleficent," Flora clarified.

"A force?"

"It wouldn't have to be too large. We did manage to imprison her already."

Felicity's eyes again took on that eerie glow. "You? You had the help of the most powerful artifacts available and by sheer dumb luck you managed to imprison her, evidently for a fortnight at most." She stood and leaned over the tea table. "She disappeared into the night with the princess you risked your lives and your magic to protect and is currently doing who-knows-what to her, and you want to, what? Get a group of friends together and try again?"

"Well, I…I didn't…"

"What? Think of it that way?" Felicity's lovely face contorted into a sneer. "This foolishness has gone on long enough. Do you have any idea what is going on outside of your tiny little kingdom?"

Flora, Fauna, and Merryweather shook their heads silently. Felicity settled back into her seat, but the glow in her eyes remained ever unsettling. "Do you not agree that wicked fairies are a menace to society? An unwelcome complication in our lives?"

They nodded.

"And do you not agree that this world would be much better without them?"

Flora and Merryweather nodded. Fauna suddenly felt sick to her stomach.

* * *

A little over a week had passed since Maleficent had more or less tricked Rose into discovering her magical ability. Rose knew Maleficent meant no ill, and Maleficent had even apologized for her deceit, but until she read the words from Kinsale, she had not felt entirely better about it. The letter confirmed an inner need she could not express herself. If she was going to do this, she wanted it to be on her own terms. She had been told too many stories of people being corrupted by magic, swept up in its charms and carried away into eternal damnation. And she knew from considerable experience that she was prone to being swept up by charm. She'd been swept up by the charm of the handsome boy she'd met in the woods, and she'd even occasionally been swept up in that strange, chilling charm Maleficent sometimes exhibited.

During their brief time together, Rose and Maleficent had formed an uneasy sort of camaraderie, and Rose's reasons for wanting to learn a bit of defensive magic were unsurprisingly centered upon Maleficent. Though Rose had more or less accepted that Maleficent no longer posed an immediate threat to her, their relationship was extremely unbalanced, which was the cause of Rose's lingering fear and uncertainty where Maleficent was concerned.

She knew Maleficent felt responsible for protecting Rose because she owed Rose her life, and Rose hoped that having some ability to defend herself might help to level the playing field between them on a personal level. The possibility of venturing out on her own without feeling as though her life were in danger or she were betraying Maleficent's trust in some way had not occurred to her, and only served to further support her plans.

Rose set Kinsale's letter aside and examined the books she had sent along. The first was a small book with a green cover. This was _Song of the Water Nymph_ by Mistress Konstanze. The second book was much larger and thicker. It had a dark blue cover with an ink drawing depicting two hands reaching for one another and almost touching. It was entitled _And Yet So Far_. Rose flipped through the first couple of pages. She found a portrait of Mistress Konstanze, whose skin was pine green and whose hair was a green only a shade or two darker. She had a kind face with high, prominent cheekbones and dramatic eyes. The tale was allegedly based on a true story, "but very loosely." Rose set the books aside with Kinsale's letter. She did not feel much like reading now. She wanted to discuss the letter she had just received.

One very large and delightful improvement in Maleficent and Rose's relationship since their visit with Mistress Kinsale was that Maleficent seemed much more willing to talk to Rose than she had at first. Rose supposed this might have something to do with the fact that the issues plaguing her mind no longer directly involved Maleficent, but she would take what she could get as far as conversation was concerned. Maleficent had proven to be as fascinating a conversationalist as Rose had first suspected, and she found it rather exciting to be able to look forward to such conversations on a daily basis.

She found Maleficent sitting in her usual armchair in the ballroom by the fireplace, nose buried in a thick book with a deep red cover.

"Are you always in the mood to read?" she asked. Maleficent took a moment to look up.

"Yes, I suppose so. Why do you ask?"

"I don't know. You read a great deal more often than I can ever imagine doing. I'm not always in the mood to read."

"But you still find reading taxing, am I correct?"

Rose nodded.

"More often than not, I find it relaxing. It's possible that, given more practice, you will begin to find it thus."

Rose nodded again. After a moment's silence, Maleficent spoke once more. "Is there something you wanted to discuss?"

Rose took a deep breath. She'd found that she usually got the best response when she did not beat around the bush. Maleficent responded surprisingly positively to clear, blunt expressions of thoughts, feelings, or opinions. "I want to learn to use magic."

Maleficent's expression remained neutral, but her eyes sparkled with interest. "Really? Is there anywhere in particular you'd like to start? Enchanted crocheting, perhaps?"

Rose's somber mood was not to be disturbed. "I want to learn how to defend myself."

Maleficent closed her book and placed it on the table before her. She stood and turned to face Rose. "A wise choice. I imagine Kinsale's letter had some influence upon this decision?"

"In a manner of speaking. She also offered up an explanation for my inability to comprehend what I saw in the _Big Book of Spells_."

"That you're a wicked fairy?"

"That I should try reading wicked fairy spells, anyway."

"It's certainly not out of the question." She raised her hand and pulled a small book from nowhere which she then passed to Rose. Finding herself once more overcome with fear, Rose stared at the book blankly until Maleficent said, "Open it."

The book was entitled _Essential Camouflage_, and the author was Mistress Zenovia of the Mountainlands. There was a brief introduction, and then the first spell was entitled "Don't Mind Me."

This spell will render you unimportant to the casual observer.  
Advantages: Low magic expenditure  
Disadvantages: Will not work on anyone who is actively looking for you

There was some more information on the creation of the spell, its linguistic derivation, and so on. Rose's eyes fell upon the incantation and she marveled at how different the text looked from the good fairy spells she had seen. First of all, it took up much less space—only one line—and it seemed more akin to words than to drawings. Rose got the feeling that if she looked at the almost-words long enough, she might be able to figure them out.

"What does expenditure mean?" she asked idly.

"Expense, use. Magic expenditure refers to the amount of magical power necessary to perform or maintain a spell. That first one might not be your best bet, though. It won't work on me, so no one will know if you succeed in casting it. May I?"

The request did not make much sense to Rose, but she nodded, nonetheless. Maleficent waved her hand and several pages of the book flipped as though by a gust of wind. The spell Maleficent had chosen was called "Mistaken Identity."

This spell will cause your facial features to appear altered, so that someone who has spotted you will believe he has found the wrong person.  
Advantages: Very low magic expenditure, very favourable results with all targets  
Disadvantages: A last resort.

"A last resort?"

"Mistress Zenovia intends the art of camouflage to be used as an alternative to active magic. If someone who is looking for you has already recognized and approached you, this spell is a final attempt to avoid any interaction whatsoever."

"She must not like parties very much." Rose murmured as she skimmed over the origins on the spell and examined the incantation. Again she got the feeling that if she concentrated hard enough, she could make sense of the words, and she spent the next couple of minutes glaring at the page before Maleficent spoke quietly.

"Touch the words."

"What?"

"With your fingers. Touch the words of the spell."

Rose balanced the book in her left hand. Experimentally, she lightly tapped the spell with two fingers. Nothing happened. She tried again with three. Maleficent approached her and took her hand gently, and Rose shivered involuntarily. Maleficent folded all of Rose's fingers down except for her index finger and guided it in a slow, sweeping motion over the words.

And suddenly they were _words_. Rose's fingertip tingled and her vision became blurry and dim. All that she could see clearly were the words of the incantation.

"I am someone else," she murmured softly.

Maleficent let go of her hand and the world came back into focus. Now that she had read the incantation, though, she could see _I am someone else_ as clearly as any of the other text on the page. She tore her eyes away from the book to gaze up at Maleficent in wonder. "I can see it now," she said.

Maleficent smiled. She turned the page.

Now You See Me  
This spell will make you invisible.  
Advantages: Favourable results on all targets  
Disadvantages: High magic expenditure when unpracticed. If someone sees you disappear, you might have some explaining to do.

"This seems like a bit of a leap in difficulty."

"Perhaps. Try it."

Rose swallowed and gazed at the incantation. Again she saw only unfamiliar text which looked almost, _almost_ legible. She traced her finger over the words the way Maleficent had shown her. This incantation was two lines long. She tried at first to trace both at once, but then focused her attention on the first.

_Now you see me_…

Rose felt a tingle in her finger which began to spread through her arm, causing it to feel weak. As her finger ran across the words, they became clearer to her. _Now you see me_ seemed to be written everywhere. She tried to move on to the second line, but the instant her fingertip disconnected with the page, she lost the feeling and the words were only words, legible now, but with no special property about them. Rose sighed in frustration.

"Now you see me…then what? The second I stopped touching the words, I didn't feel them anymore." She shook her head. "That sounds like nonsense."

"It isn't nonsense. In order to learn a spell, you must feel it. Sometimes the only way to conceptualize that is to touch the incantation, to feel it literally. Do the same thing with the second line, then we'll move on."

Rose bit her lip and gazed at the second line. She repeated the slow stroking motions of her finger until she could feel the tingling sensation and from her fingertip flowed the words _Now you don't_.

Rose felt a painful spark and quickly withdrew her finger. The feeling went away, but the words remained.

_Now you see me,  
Now you don't._

"Multiple-line incantations are tricky, but if you can do this, you can do one line just fine," Maleficent told her. "The next step is to learn to keep that sensation you feel in your fingers when you've stopped touching the incantation. You'll then use that magic to essentially erase yourself from view."

Rose looked up, mildly concerned. "Is it going to hurt? What if I can't get myself back?"

Maleficent shook her head. "If the spell stops working, you simply come back into view. There's absolutely no chance of becoming permanently invisible."

Rose nodded. "All right. What do I do?"

"I'm going to give you all of the instructions at once. If you pause in the middle, it won't work. Are you ready?"

"Yes."

"With two fingers, trace the entire spell in one fluid motion: first line, swoop back, second line. If you need to trace it again to feel the magic, keep your finger connected to the page, but don't touch any other words on your way back to the beginning. Once you feel the magic, speak the incantation as you trace the words with your fingers. Do you understand so far?" Rose nodded. "You may need to do this multiple times, but you'll know when you can let go. When you feel it, the magic will be contained in your fingertips. As a test, run them over your other arm. Repeat those instructions to me, please."

"Trace the spell with two fingers: first line, swoop back, second line, swoop around." Rose traced the pattern in the air to remind herself. "When you feel the magic, speak the incantation while still tracing it. When you feel…something…let go and run your fingers over your other arm."

"Correct. Begin."

Rose traced the incantation several times, and only when she was beginning to feel frustrated did she feel the tingling sensation begin. On her next round, she spoke the words, "Now you see me, now you don't," but felt nothing different. She paused and felt the same painful spark.

"Ouch! I didn't do anything!"

"You paused."

"Oh," Rose shook her hand a few more times. "What if the other one only worked because you were touching my hand?"

"It did, but that doesn't change the fact that you could still read the incantation when I let go. Try again."

Rose started over, a somewhat lackluster attempt at first, but when she began to feel the undeniable tingling sensation in her fingertips, she dared to believe for an instant that it was real, that she could do this, and suddenly she was no longer aware of anything else but the task before her. "Now you see me, now you don't," she murmured. "Now you see me, now you don't…now you see me, now you don't…now you see me…now you don't."

She felt a spark, but it was quite unlike the ones before. She felt a surge of power not just in her fingers, or her hand, or even her arm. Her entire body felt full of a force and vitality she had never known. She felt strong. Rose swept her fingertips from the page and over her left arm. It did not disappear completely, but something very strange happened. She could see through herself to the stone floor beneath her. Entranced, she continued the sweeping motion of her fingers up the rest of her arm, but the magic fizzled out somewhere around her shoulder, and her arm slowly faded back into solidness.

She felt mildly disappointed, and suddenly quite exhausted, as though all of the energy she possessed—and even more she hadn't known she possessed—had been drained from her. She looked up to Maleficent, who was smiling.

"Well done," she said.

"It didn't work. And now I am so tired."

"Oh, it worked. You did it. Now you only need practice."

Rose fought to suppress a yawn. "Why am I so tired? I only half-made my arm disappear."

"The spell requires a great deal of magic. Yours has lain dormant for upwards of sixteen years. It is weak and finite, and it will take some time to replenish itself. Have a seat."

Rose obeyed readily. She curled her feet under herself and basked in the warmth emanating from the fireplace.

"Is that what it was like for you? Learning magic?" Rose asked as Maleficent sat across from her.

"With fairies, the learning process mostly involves how to control our magic. As children, we accidentally perform magic constantly. Particularly clever children learn to harness their abilities in various unrefined ways, but in order to master the craft, we must force ourselves to become disciplined."

"So I'll take that to mean that for you, making yourself invisible is akin in effort to a sneeze."

Maleficent chuckled. "That's one way to look at it, I suppose. But humans who possess magic are quite a different matter. Usually they've been taught that they cannot possibly use magic, or that even the rare few who can invariably meet a horrible end. Humans must first bring their abilities to the surface before they can use them properly."

"How is it that I can read wicked fairy spells and not good fairy ones?"

"I suspect it's because you're innately wicked."

Rose's head snapped up in alarm and Maleficent chuckled.

"Oh, don't look so surprised—I know that's the answer you were expecting. Most humans can only read wicked fairy spells. You can learn to read good fairy spells if you want to, but it takes a great deal of time. They are intentionally difficult to understand."

"Kinsale said she can still barely read them, and you read them just fine."

"In the same way that some people are more naturally inclined to learn another language than others," said Maleficent, "I am naturally inclined to understand different varieties of magic with greater ease than most people. It isn't so unusual. Mistress Zenovia wrote another book called _Demystifying the Good Fairy_, the aim of which was to deconstruct some useful good fairy spells and explain to wicked fairies how they work. It was quite controversial. Good fairies spent ages trying to make their magic unintelligible to us. The more militant good fairies of the world led a rather bloody crusade. They imprisoned Zenovia, then went around marching any wicked fairy too weak to oppose them out of her home and demanded that she burn the book or face death."

Rose frowned, but her mind was fuzzy. "How could they have gotten away with that?"

"Easily. There are far fewer wicked fairies in the world than good ones, and they aren't particularly willing to unite, nor are their opinions held in particularly high regard by the general public. Kinsale is of the opinion that Mistress Sara is building ranks to wipe us all out of existence."

Maleficent's tone did not change as she revealed this information, but it jolted Rose out of near sleep nonetheless. "But she couldn't, could she?"

"Probably not every last one of us, but supposing that is her plan and she is ready to enact it at this very moment, she could make us very scarce indeed."

Rose felt ill and also dizzyingly sleepy, but she sat upright. "That's a lot of supposing. Is any of it true?" Maleficent seemed remarkably calm if it were so, but Rose supposed that was not a good indicator of the seriousness of any situation.

"It's very likely that this is her ultimate goal—Kinsale wouldn't believe something like that without significant evidence—however, such an attack is not imminent."

Rose did not find this news particularly comforting, but she decided not to press the issue any further. "You and Kinsale seem to know each other very well."

Maleficent nodded. "I have considered her my friend for a very long time."

"How did you meet? When did you meet?"

Maleficent was silent for a moment before she spoke. "I was very young—not even twenty. She was very famous. I had read everything she'd ever written. She invited me to a party. I don't even know how her little messenger bird found me. I didn't live anywhere—I moved all the time. People had heard of me, but I hadn't met very many other wicked fairies in my lifetime. And yet she found me, and I went." Maleficent sighed. "I was rather desperate for company by that time, and she was, by some gracious whim of fate, exactly what I needed her to be."

Rose leaned her head on her hand, trying to fight off the exhaustion which threatened to overtake her. "What was that?"

Maleficent thought about this for a moment. "Persistent," she replied.

This answer troubled Rose somewhat, and yet she wasn't quite alert enough to process the many questions she wanted to ask. She found it difficult to wrap her drowsy mind around the quality of persistence as it pertained to Kinsale and Maleficent, and as it pertained to her own life.

Still, by all appearances, Maleficent led an incredibly solitary existence. Rose had assumed at first that this was by choice, but the more she learned about Maleficent's past, the more it seemed that her life might only be so empty because she had lost a great number of people (and other creatures) who were important to her. It was of some comfort to her that someone—even someone as troubling as Kinsale—had been in Maleficent's life for a long time.

Rose wondered again what a young Maleficent would look like, for she did not appear to be very old. Rose recalled the first time she had set eyes upon Maleficent in King Stefan's dungeon, a memory which still filled her with a vague sense of unease. She had been utterly shocked by Maleficent's youth and beauty, especially because of the way Philip had spoken about her. However, she had already determined that Maleficent must be more than a century old, and the way Maleficent spoke suggested that Kinsale, who generally seemed younger than Maleficent, must be quite a bit older.

Rose wanted to ask, but she felt it would be rude, and the information didn't matter very much. Of the multiple nonsense statements which had occurred to her in her sleepy reverie, Rose decided to respond, "I am very glad you have such a loyal friend." This seemed true enough to Rose. Though she had found some of the things Kinsale said to be a bit disconcerting, Kinsale had made it clear that her loyalties lay with Maleficent, and she seemed to have extended that friendship to Rose because of this.

Maleficent chuckled lightly. "It appears you would benefit from a nap."

"A nap?" Rose asked, her incredulity somewhat dampened by the long yawn that followed. "I was thinking of sleeping the whole night through, thank you. You'd do well to do the same."

"I suppose I would," she responded, her voice rich with amusement. "But I think I might wait until the sun sets, at least."

Rose rubbed her eyes. "Why do I feel as though it's the middle of the night?"

"Magic is a tiresome skill to learn. Go. Get some sleep."

Rose heaved her legs over the edge of the sofa and drew herself drowsily to a standing position. "Good afternoon," she said wryly as she made her way slowly up the stairs.

"Sleep well, Briar Rose," said Maleficent.

Before she was out of sight, a thought occurred to her. "Maleficent?"

"Yes?"

"Would you show me?"

"Show you what?"

"The spell."

Maleficent smiled. She made a sweeping gesture, as though bowing. "Now you see me," she said, taking hold of her cloak, "now you don't." She swept her cloak in front of her face and down her body and faded from view. Rose, who was leaning her elbows on the banister, rested her face upon one of her hands and let out an unconscious sigh of contentment.

"Thank you," she said softly to the empty room.

"Sweet dreams," said Maleficent's voice from nowhere and everywhere.

Rose reached up to suppress a yawn against the back of her hand. "You're quite remarkable," she said as she continued her path up the stairs. "But I'm certain you already know that."

Rose had no way of knowing this, but long after she had drifted off to sleep and Maleficent had reappeared and attempted to continue reading her book, her words had left a very conflicted wicked fairy in their wake.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: **There's a lot of new information in this chapter—please let me know if it comes across as an info dump. I may end up spreading some of it out when I post edits of previous chapters, but I'd love to know how it reads to someone who hasn't reread it a billion times. Your readership and feedback are, as always, much appreciated!

* * *

**Chapter 8 – The Chains**

The pounding on her door came as little surprise to her. She had been expecting it for months now.

Hiding from one's entire species was no small feat. It was also remarkably lonely; however, she had hidden from the entire world for many years. This, masquerading as a human for just shy of a century, had been relatively calm if nothing else.

The idea of living as a human had come to her as most of her ideas did: abruptly. She had not had much time to think about it. She had been so shocked to come upon a land where there were no resident fairies, and indeed, where magic was not very commonplace at all, and the idea had seemed to her to be an epiphany of the grandest kind. No one would expect it of her. They would believe she had died, and she would be free to live out her life for a time, to blend in and to forget about children and wars raging at her doorstep and magic. Then, when she had rested, perhaps in a century or two, she could begin to plot her revenge. There was no hurry.

She had had some trouble disguising the things about her which marked her as a fairy. The skin had taken the most work, for every time she tried to change it, she came up with a splotchy, ashen colour which fooled no one. So she concentrated on the smaller things: the point at the tip of her ears, her abnormal height, and the way her facial features were arranged.

It took her another couple of years of practice before she managed a satisfactory natural skin tone. She frequently grew frustrated with the ordeal and decided to go back to living on the run, only to change her mind back about a month later and try again. She thought often of her most recent adversary in battle, who could change her entire form at will and who had no trouble remaining that way for long stretches of time. Passing as a human for her would be akin in effort to a sneeze.

Where had she acquired such a useful ability? It wasn't as though she were different or special in any way. The girl shared a father with two other young fairies, both of whom were entirely unremarkable. Each of the girl's sisters had fallen at her feet and begged for mercy. Useless, sniveling little things. It was hardly even worth her while to kill them, only the youngest girl was shrieking and crying not to, and she was the true threat. Had been all along. But if she thought killing the girl's sisters would throw her off her mark, she had been sorely mistaken.

She finally managed a warm brown skin tone which she felt best complemented her raven hair. When she was confident she could retain the colour, she returned to the village in the Kingdom of the Desert Oasis and promptly faded into obscurity.

The years had made her complacent. Her defeat had been humiliating and it haunted her nightmares incessantly, but with decades of perspective between herself and that fateful battle, she realized that she had expected it all along. She kept herself rather well, for she had always had a knack for spinning and sewing. She spun thread, wove lovely fabric, made clothes and repaired the clothes of her neighbours. She did not marry, for she knew she could not keep the secret of her inhumanity in such a situation, but she did have friends. Acquaintances, really, for every twenty years or so, she had to disappear for a while, change her name, and pretend to be her own daughter or niece or whatever struck her fancy. She found that, without children and without magic, life became simple and even enjoyable.

She wasn't certain whether she had ever truly believed she would never see another fairy in her lifetime. In retrospect the concept sounded absolutely ridiculous. And yet, her neighbours had been so surprised to see the willowy, green-skinned woman who breezed through town as though she were floating just above the ground. They had never seen anything like her. It was surreal, watching their reaction to the wicked fairy as she took up residence in an abandoned homestead just outside of town. She found that she missed that reaction terribly. She wanted to be that fairy. She wanted to be herself.

She supposed that could have been what gave her away. It didn't matter now. Perhaps she could ask if she was curious enough.

"On the authority of Mistress Sara of the Kingdom by the Sea, I command you to open the door."

She obeyed. "Good afternoon."

The good fairy at her door could easily overpower her, especially after a century without practice. She was tall and almost muscular in build. Her skin was tan, her hair was short, curly, and dark brown, and her eyes were vibrant green—perhaps they were intentionally glowing. She held her wand like a sword.

"Are you good or wicked?"

"Whatever do you mean?"

The good fairy smiled mirthlessly. "I needn't have asked. You can tell me who you truly are and why you're masquerading as a human, or I can drag the information out of you by whatever means I see fit. Take your pick."

"You're going to kill me, anyway. What does it matter who I am?"

She had never witnessed a good fairy inflicting harm before, and so the hot slash of pain she felt across her body as the good fairy flicked her wand surprised her more than it hurt. "It matters," said the good fairy as she began walking forward, backing the wicked fairy into her house and out of view, "because Mistress Sara wants to be aware of all of the fairies, good and wicked, living on Earth. It was of some concern to her to learn that an unidentified fairy had been hiding for such a long time."

"Mistress Sara…the one who killed Cordelia? She's still around?"

The next slash of pain did hurt, but she still had enough sense not to react.

"Very much so," the good fairy replied. "I'm quickly losing my patience with you, wicked fairy. Tell me your true name."

The wicked fairy grinned, "My name is Maleficent."

She doubled over in pain—she could not help it. Evidently much had changed in the way good fairies were permitted to operate since last she had encountered one.

"Now, now, now," the good fairy chuckled, "we both know that isn't true."

"If you're so knowledgeable about who I am not," the wicked fairy choked, for she was having some difficulty breathing, "how is it you need me to tell you who I am?"

The good fairy placed the tip of her wand at the wicked fairy's throat. "Oh, I don't need you to do anything. Consider this a courtesy. However, I should warn you that if you continue to be difficult, I'll be forced to take drastic action to find out the truth."

"Do you think you can scare me?" It was the wicked fairy's turn to laugh. "What has the world come to when a good fairy thinks her grand talk about 'drastic action' will frighten the likes of me into doing as she says?"

A moment later, when the dizzying pain had subsided somewhat and the world had come back into focus, the wicked fairy realized she was on her knees, with a wand still aimed at her throat. She looked up at the good fairy, whose eyes were twinkling with glee.

"Let's try this again," said the good fairy. "Tell me your name, or I will slice you into pieces and feed them to you."

It seemed more had changed than she could have possibly imagined. "My name," said the wicked fairy quietly, "is Adara."

At least the good fairy had the good grace to look surprised.

* * *

As the days and weeks and months progressed, Fauna was feeling increasingly uneasy about what seemed to be happening.

Fauna had never been much of a networker. If either of her sisters was any good at making connections, it was Flora, and even that was questionable, for some people found her a bit overbearing. Fauna generally got along with most people when she met them, but they seldom remembered her. Why would they? She was forgettable in comparison with her sisters.

It occurred to Fauna that now would be an excellent time to make good on the only true connection she ever felt she had made…if only she could think of a way to do so. She didn't even know where to find the fairy who had befriended her all those years ago, and it wouldn't exactly do to just ask.

The visit to Mistress Felicity—who incidentally, did not remember Fauna's name—had completely altered the course of their plans. Where Flora seemed to have seen it as a minor annoyance that Maleficent had escaped her magical chains, Felicity saw it as a sign that Maleficent was a source of irrepressible chaos who needed to be subdued at the earliest possible opportunity.

Now, Fauna was a great admirer of Mistress Sara, especially since she had met Sara in her youth. Sara was regal and kind, and had since her defeat of Mistress Cordelia come to be considered a leader to those good fairies who chose to remain on Earth. The Fairy Queen and her council lived in the Kingdom of the Skies, of course, but she rarely concerned herself with earthly matters. Fauna had been hoping to encounter Mistress Sara again over the course of their travels.

However, when Felicity had explained Sara's emerging philosophy regarding wicked fairies, Fauna had truly begun to realize how much had changed since she last left the Eastern Kingdom. Fauna's mother had taught her and her sisters that wicked fairies were a necessary evil, that they maintained a balance in the world, and that as long as their powers were used to regulate the natural bad things that happened in the universe and they did not create excessive mischief of their own, they ought to be left well enough alone.

For good fairies as relatively weak as Fauna and her sisters, 'excessive mischief' was a broad term. When Maleficent moved into the abandoned castle of the former Southern Kingdom nearly a century ago, Fauna and her sisters had paid her a visit to assess her potential threat to the land. She was nothing like the sneering, openly vicious wicked fairies Fauna had met in the past. She was very young—probably not even thirty. Though she was extremely tall, usually an indicator of power, she was also gangly, almost awkward. Her expression was stoic, perhaps even sad, and she was generally very quiet. Flora had deemed her harmless.

The three good fairies had all but forgotten about her by the time she started causing trouble about a decade later. Really, she had never done anything to a human which could be traced back to her. She mostly seemed fond of such things as sending nasty weather in the middle of a summer festival, or causing everyone in the kingdom to be very angry with one another for no particular reason—circumstances which bothered Flora and Merryweather endlessly, but which did not directly affect Fauna, for she rather liked a surprising snow in July, and Fauna's sisters were often mad at her or at one another for no reason without Maleficent's influence.

Fauna's relative objectivity toward Maleficent's mischief had granted her a unique perspective. She realized that Maleficent was not actually causing the Three Kingdoms to spiral into chaos as Flora and Merryweather frequently conjectured. Maleficent simply liked to irritate people. This in itself was not necessarily an earth-shattering revelation, for Fauna had never heard of a wicked fairy who didn't like to irritate people; however, Maleficent _only_ liked to irritate people. She did not seem particularly interested in causing any real misery until she cursed the Princess Aurora.

As such, what seemed a natural progression of Maleficent's obvious evil ways to everyone else in the kingdom struck Fauna as a rather drastic shift in the severity of her offenses.

And certainly it had been dreadful, but it was still odd. Fauna got the feeling that there was more to the story than she knew.

Aside from that, Fauna didn't really see how being more powerful than the Chains of Avasina was Maleficent's fault. Just because Fauna and her sisters were relatively weak as far as fairies went was no reason to blame other fairies for their strength.

Another possibility which everyone—now including Merryweather, who seemed before to have silently agreed with her—was ignoring was that perhaps the Chains had worked. Maleficent was frighteningly intelligent, and her demeanour was often exceedingly polite. Rose had only ever met a handful of other people in her life up until her sixteenth birthday, and in addition to that, she was incredibly kind-hearted. It was extremely possible that Maleficent had convinced Rose to set her free without magic.

But she doubted Flora, Merryweather, and especially Felicity would believe her if they even gave her the opportunity to speak at all.

Fauna did hope Rose was all right. Though she innately felt that this was so, several months had passed since they had last gone anywhere to inquire about Maleficent's whereabouts, again to no avail. Had Rose simply been locked away in a dungeon somewhere all that time, waiting for whatever Maleficent deemed the right moment?

Perhaps most upsetting to consider was that this, that Maleficent had simply left her alone in a dungeon, was the best possible circumstance.

The answer to Fauna's connection problem came unexpectedly.

"Ladies?" came the voice of Felicity's youngest sister, Charity one morning from outside the door of the room where they had been staying. "Felicity has received some information that might be of interest to you."

The information came in the form of a very curt letter from a good fairy in the Desert Lands which Felicity read aloud. "Wicked fairy found masquerading as human. Don't know who she is or how long. Reported her to Sara. Thought you'd want to know."

The next morning, Felicity, Flora, Fauna, and Merryweather had begun the trek to the Desert Lands. They had first visited Felicity's contact there, a tall, muscular good fairy with short brown hair and cold green eyes (though Fauna had never before considered such a thing possible).

"After Annora died, her daughter came back to take her place," the good fairy explained. "She's weak, so apparently Joy decided she'd take up residence in the south."

"Joy?" asked Fauna before she could stop herself.

"You've heard of her?" asked Felicity, surprised.

Fauna blushed and began to stammer, "Oh, I…I read…a story…about her once. Long ago."

The visit to Joy had been perhaps even more uncomfortable than the visit to Mistress Kinsale. Joy had no interest in speaking with Felicity. Felicity had no interest in speaking with Joy. The only things the party learned from the encounter were that Joy either did not know or was not going to tell them of all people the following: where Maleficent was, who the unidentified wicked fairy masquerading as a human was and whether she had known about it before the good fairy had caught on, and whether these two subjects were in any way related. "Perhaps you should ask the all-knowing Queen Sara," Joy had suggested with a mocking grin.

Fortunately—though it was also quite disappointing—Joy showed no signs of recognizing Fauna.

Ah well. Fauna was no good at making connections with people—she knew that by now. Anyway, Joy wouldn't want to help her now, even if she did remember. Fauna owed her, not the other way around, and she was currently doing their forgotten friendship a dreadful disservice.

* * *

Several months passed in a very strange way. Briar Rose spent every single day practicing magic, which generally meant exhausting herself about an hour and a half after she awoke. Her waking hours became erratic—she awoke, practiced, then went back to sleep and started over anywhere from three to nine hours later.

Rose did not see Maleficent at all for days at a time, and her only indicators that Maleficent had not abandoned her were the books she left on Rose's bedside table. _Defensive Magic, Defensive Magic for the Offensively Inclined, The Art of Defense_, and, bizarrely, _Gardening for Wicked Fairies: Putting that green thumb to work! _Rose suspected that one was there as a joke, but she found that she was much better at causing small blades of grass to sprout from her bedside table than at any other feat of magic she had attempted thus far.

One evening—Rose figured it was near midnight—Maleficent knocked at Rose's door and found her awake and able to showcase the fruits of her labour. After months of constant practice, Rose could consistently keep her entire person invisible for about three seconds.

As Rose faded back into view, she heaved a sigh of exhaustion. "Useless," she muttered.

"Progress," Maleficent corrected her. "Did any of the books interest you?"

Rose waved her hand at the corner of the bedside table and a small green sprout emerged, which opened up into a very tiny, but still fully formed daisy. She turned her gaze back to Maleficent, who rewarded her with a wry smile.

"I am glad to see you've devoted your time to such useful skills."

Rose lifted her chin defiantly. "I can also do this," she said, quickly raising both of her hands. "Stand back!" Maleficent and the chair she occupied promptly jumped back several steps, and Maleficent made a small exclamation of surprise. Rose barely suppressed a giggle. She wondered if anyone in the history of the world had ever caught Maleficent by surprise before.

"I retract my sarcasm," she said. Rose's heart leapt: Maleficent was impressed with her! "Perhaps you'd like to put your skills to a test tomorrow?"

"What kind of test?"

Maleficent gave her a small, slightly frightening smile. "I promise I'll be gentle."

Rose shivered. She had missed Maleficent's company-this was the most they'd spoken in months—and she supposed there was no way she'd ever actually be able to use her newfound magic unless she practiced against someone who didn't actually intend to hurt her...well, probably didn't, anyway. Still, she couldn't think of a more intimidating first opponent. "All right," she said.

"Excellent," Maleficent replied, and Rose immediately began to second-guess her decision. She decided to change the subject.

"What have you been up to lately? Have you gone anywhere exciting without me?"

"Visiting acquaintances, gathering information, brushing up on my own magic," she replied, moving her chair back to its original position. "Nothing unusual. I went to the Black Forest and the Desert Lands."

"Did you learn anything new? Who did you see there?"

"Konstanze and Eleanore in the Black Forest. They didn't know very much—they both have young children."

"Konstanze—she's the one who writes the romance novels, right?"

"Yes. Eleanore is her sister."

"I started reading _And Yet So Far_ awhile ago…a week or two, perhaps," Rose couldn't remember now. Days and weeks blurred together in her mind the harder she tried. "Is it odd that the story is about a good fairy?"

"Well, she claims that it's based on a true story. That implies either that she wanted to remain true to that or that she wanted to disguise the identity of someone wicked fairy readers would recognize."

"Oh," Rose replied. "That makes sense. What is she like? What is her sister like?"

"Konstanze and I have never gotten along very well—she wasn't especially pleased to see me. Eleanore was a bit more cordial, but as I mentioned, they're not in a position to participate in any conflict with good fairies, so my visit was a short one."

"Kinsale wrote that wicked fairies are...sometimes ill-equipped to raise children." She wasn't certain what she wanted to ask, exactly. Fortunately, Maleficent understood.

"Incapable mothers usually cannot keep a single child alive for more than a year or two. Konstanze and Eleanore each have three children who seem to be healthy and happy. It's always possible that they could face danger when they approach maturity, but that's quite awhile off."

"I don't exactly understand why that is…the second one."

"Why a wicked fairy would kill her children before their magic has matured?"

"Why she would kill her children at all, I suppose," Rose replied, feeling very uneasy.

Maleficent thought for a moment before she answered. "Generally speaking, only one mature wicked fairy can reside in any land at a time. A less powerful or territorial fairy might resign herself to a single kingdom, as is the case with Konstanze and Eleanore, but it isn't simply a matter of personal disposition. When a fairy takes up permanent residence, her magic binds itself to the land. If the magic of two fairies collides in this way, it can create rather disastrous consequences, even without their intent. Does that make sense?"

Rose nodded. "But it doesn't answer my question."

"No, but it is necessary information if you are to understand the answer," Maleficent explained. "Once a wicked fairy's daughter has reached maturity, she must either leave home or usurp her mother as the wicked fairy who presides over that territory."

"What happened to Konstanze and Eleanore's mother?"

"She's long dead," Maleficent replied, "but they both left home when they matured—there was no conflict."

"What about you?"

Maleficent visibly tensed. "What about me?"

Rose swallowed the lump forming in her throat. "What happened when you and your sisters matured?"

Maleficent met Rose's eyes with a stony gaze that did not invite further questions. "There was a conflict long before any of us reached maturity."

Rose quickly averted her eyes. "Whom did you visit in the Desert Lands?"

There was a moment of silence before Maleficent spoke, but Rose did not dare to look at her just yet. "My acquaintance there was named Annora, but she is dead. Her daughter, Makeda, lives in her former home. She admitted that she isn't as powerful as Annora was—another wicked fairy has taken residence in a neighbouring kingdom, so I visited her, as well."

Rose wondered whether she ought to offer condolences for the loss of another person from Maleficent's past, even though she had only referred to Annora as an acquaintance. It was yet another addition to an unnervingly long list of losses Maleficent had suffered, yet Rose wasn't certain she wanted to call Maleficent's attention to that. She decided to let the moment pass.

"Who was the new wicked fairy?"

"Her name is Joy. She's rather famous—Kinsale wrote her biography some time ago."

"Why is she famous?"

Maleficent chuckled, "Mostly because she gets along so well with good fairies. Or she used to—she even lived in the Kingdom of the Skies for many years. The Fairy Queen is very fond of her."

Rose considered this: from what little she knew, the Kingdom of the Skies was a place reserved for good fairies who did not care to remain on Earth. They were very powerful and not very attuned to the unique struggles of life on Earth, or life as a human. "Has any other wicked fairy ever lived there?"

"Not for nearly as long," Maleficent replied. Rose sensed that she wanted to say more, but she did not.

"Did you speak with her? Joy, I mean?"

Maleficent nodded. "Apparently your good fairies paid her a visit, in the company of Mistress Felicity, no less."

"Mistress…Felicity? Of the Hill Kingdom?" Rose vaguely remembered Kinsale mentioning her.

"That's the one. It's odd—Felicity openly despises wicked fairies. She isn't known to visit them." Maleficent shook her head. "In any event, they asked about my whereabouts, Joy told them she didn't know, and Felicity made some vague threat about 'wishing she had helped her Better Kinfolk.'"

"Better Kinfolk, as in good fairies?"

Maleficent nodded.

"Does Joy believe what you were saying—that Mistress Sara wants to get rid of all wicked fairies?"

"Yes, and she believes that was the implication behind Felicity's threat."

Rose frowned, "Why would Felicity make it sound like Joy would be spared if she were more helpful?"

"There have been many good fairy crusades in the past," said Maleficent. "The good fairies have almost invariably enslaved wicked fairies to help them find the ones they were really after."

"That's…" Rose didn't really have words for it. She swallowed uncomfortably.

"Only very young fairies agree to help them. The good fairies kill them anyway, when they've stopped being useful, and anyone who has been around for awhile knows that."

Rose was beginning to feel sick to her stomach. "But what of Joy? She can't be very young."

"No, but she isn't very strong, magically speaking. Someone like Felicity could overpower her easily."

"Would she help the good fairies, then, if she were overpowered?"

"She knows more about such crusades than most—she knows how it would end."

"That's awful," Rose murmured. She began to fidget. "But don't the good fairies like her anymore?"

"The Fairy Queen likes her—she's neither good nor wicked. Most of the powerful good fairies who liked her are dead now."

Rose bit her lip, considering whether she wanted to ask the question weighing most heavily upon her mind. She began with someone slightly less intimidating. "What about Kinsale?"

Maleficent averted her eyes as she spoke. "Kinsale would be a prime target. She is very famous, and many people mistake her friendliness for weakness. They would soon discover that she is not to be trifled with, but it's likely that she would yield to the Mountainland Fairies."

The Mountainland Fairies, Rose had read, were some of the most powerful fairies living on Earth. They each had specialties, such as defense, elemental magic, or even magical artifacts like the Chains of Avasina which had imprisoned Maleficent.

Rose tried very hard to ignore the sinking feeling in her stomach as she finally dared to ask, "What about you? If the good fairies did…"

Maleficent looked up at nothing, her brow slightly furrowed. "One very interesting tidbit I learned from my chat with Joy is that I seem to have made quite a name for myself recently."

"How so?"

She turned her gaze upon Rose and smiled. "Somehow, while wearing the Chains of Avasina, I managed to enchant a princess to set me free."

The words stung. Briar Rose felt utterly betrayed. The moment she had come to view as a new beginning in her life had, like everything else, been a result of someone else's magic, and Maleficent had not even bothered to tell her? "You enchanted me?" she choked. She suddenly felt she was going to cry.

Maleficent's smile fell, and her eyes widened in surprise. "Of course not. I couldn't have enchanted you if I tried—I didn't have any magic."

Rose tried very hard to process this information, but she was still reeling from what she had heard just prior. "What? Then…what…why?"

"The Chains of Avasina are based entirely upon two presumptions: that a wicked fairy is useless without her magic, and that no one would help a wicked fairy except another wicked fairy. Perhaps I was a bit manipulative in our conversation, but I didn't lie to you, and the decision to set me free was entirely yours."

Rose had finally gotten a hold of herself. Maleficent had not enchanted her. "Then what was it you were saying earlier?"

"That the good fairies of the East believe I enchanted you is of little consequence. That they have convinced Felicity is something of a different matter. Felicity has a large family, all of whom are likely to believe her. If the news spreads, for example, to someone close to Mistress Sara, every good fairy in the world is going to believe that I am too powerful to be contained by the magic of the Mountainland Fairies."

This took Rose a moment to process, "Meaning that you're the most powerful fairy on Earth. What would happen then?"

"They would call upon the services of fairies living elsewhere."

"Elsewhere?" she echoed, and then the answer hit her. "The Kingdom of the Skies?"

Maleficent nodded. "The results of their interference could be disastrous for everyone. They don't know their own strength, so to speak."

Rose felt her entire world imploding for what seemed the hundredth time. Maleficent was in danger, perhaps even more imminent than the danger to the rest of her species.

"Is there anything to be done? Can't you…I don't know…tell everyone that you didn't enchant me?"

"That's a bit tricky," Maleficent replied. Her voice was oddly hollow. "Felicity would never believe a wicked fairy. Theoretically, I could demonstrate to her that the Chains work on me, but that would essentially be putting myself at her mercy."

Rose was fighting the overwhelming urge to reach out and touch Maleficent. Much like the condolences for the loss of her most recent acquaintance, she knew a comforting touch would not be received well.

"Unfortunately, announcing my weakness to any good fairy would be courting disaster. They would either refuse to believe me or they would interpret it as some sort of pathetic plea for mercy. Either way, I don't see what good it would do for me to die simply to prove that I can be killed." She sighed. "At the moment, I shall have to wait and see how this rumour progresses."

"So…there's nothing you can do?" Rose asked, her voice cracking.

Maleficent looked at her again, a small smile playing at her lips. "It's not as though they're going to come knocking at the door tonight. In all likelihood, by the time someone comes after me, you'll be a sorceress in your own right, and you won't require my protection anymore."

Before Rose could respond, Maleficent stood. "Anyway, if you're interested, I plan on making a return trip to the Forbidden Mountains tomorrow."

Rose stared at her blankly.

"To see whether I can revive my raven companion," she clarified.

"Oh!" Rose shook her head. "You found the spell?"

Maleficent nodded. "There's no reverse written for it. It might be useless, but I must try, nonetheless. Would you like to come along? The castle is deserted but for a lot of ravens, and I have a rather extensive library which might interest you."

Rose nodded and attempted a smile. "I would like to come along."

"Very well. I'll wake you in the morning, then," she turned to leave. "Good night, Briar Rose," she said, and then, with a small smile over her shoulder, "I look forward to our challenge."

Rose regarded her for a moment before she decided to speak. "Maleficent?"

"Yes?"

Rose was suddenly reminded of Kinsale's interrupted attempt at giving her advice. Granted, this was not the kind of misunderstanding Rose had lamented at the time. Maleficent had freely admitted that she simply enjoyed being contentious, and anyway, Rose had scarcely talked to her in months—certainly not enough to have an argument.

The trouble now had also happened before, but it had seemed of secondary concern until just now: Maleficent had misinterpreted Rose's concern for her well-being as concern for what would become of her if something happened to Maleficent.

Rose knew from personal experience that believing no one cared for one's well-being was a lonely and rather sad feeling. Perhaps Maleficent did not mind it—perhaps it was different when one could ascertain one's own well-being—but Rose minded. She had on numerous occasions wanted desperately to communicate to Maleficent that she was not nearly as alone in this world as she thought she was, but she had not yet figured out how to do so in a way that Maleficent would accept or even understand.

Rose had been quiet for an uncomfortable length of time, she knew, but Maleficent waited patiently while she gathered her thoughts. "I wanted to say…I am very grateful for your protection."

Maleficent raised one eyebrow ever so slightly. When Rose took another moment to think, she responded, "It's no trouble, Briar Rose."

Rose stood, and she fidgeted with her dress as she struggled to maintain eye contact. "Wait…I…I mean to say…" she took a deep breath. She must do her best to say what she meant, whether Maleficent believed her or not. "I am very grateful for your protection, but I am also grateful for your companionship."

Maleficent did not respond, nor did she move.

"I know it doesn't matter to you. I know that if you were in danger, you would be perfectly capable of fighting back—you wouldn't go down easily—and so this is going to sound meaningless to you…I don't want you to be in danger. I don't want anything bad to happen to you. It's not lost on me that I wouldn't survive for very long without your help, but that's not the reason. I only want you to be well and…and happy and out of danger…because I think of you as a friend. Perhaps my only friend. I hope that's all right."

Maleficent remained silent for a moment, then Rose faintly heard her swallow. Her eyes darted to and fro between Rose and various nonspecific places in the room. "Well," she said at last. "Wanting such things for me may leave you disappointed. Get some sleep." She left very quickly. It seemed as though she removed herself from the room and closed the door behind her in one fluid and lightning-fast motion.

Rose sighed and sat back down on the bed. If she were being honest, Maleficent's reaction had been better than what could have been expected. She hadn't lashed out in anger, nor had she deflected Rose's words with a joke or a snide comment. In fact, she seemed to have taken Rose seriously. That was good—Maleficent believed her. Rose nodded to herself. Whatever her feelings on the matter, Maleficent did believe her. That would have to be good enough for now.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** Thank you to Siltor for adding The Prisoner and Early to Bed to the community "Exemplary Femslash." Also, thank you to everyone who has reviewed, favourited, and alerted, or silently read! Your readership and feedback are, as always, much appreciated!

* * *

**Chapter 9 – The Loss**

Briar Rose guessed that the coolness Maleficent had exhibited toward her that morning was to be expected. It always seemed to be one step forward, two steps back with her. Still, she hadn't reneged on her promise to take Rose with her to the Forbidden Mountains, which was a vast improvement upon the last time Rose had attempted to reach out emotionally.

Maleficent's library was, as promised, quite impressive; however, three quarters of Maleficent's entire collection was physically beyond her reach. Maleficent was quite a bit taller than Rose (indeed, she was quite a bit taller than most people), but the bookshelves seemed to go on forever above her head. Finally, after an embarrassingly long time of staring at a particular red book entitled _Non-Aggressive Battle Magic_, the answer finally occurred to her: there was no ladder because Maleficent didn't need a ladder. She had magic.

After another hour of trying to magically beckon the book down to her, Rose was ready to give up and ask Maleficent for the requisite incantation. She knew, however, that Maleficent was hard at work on her own project, one which dealt with the sensitive matter of her raven companion, and Rose was loath to disturb her. She tried to think through the small list of spells she knew and what they had in common. None of them were harmful, most of them were stronger when she said the incantation aloud, the length varied, but the ones in a language she could understand were all phrased as statements or commands. _Stay back_, _Grow_, _Don't mind me_…they were all commands!

Rose eyed the red book she wanted and held out her hand. She tried to remember what it was like to hold the magic power in her hand, to feel it coursing through her veins. "Come here!" she said firmly.

The book obeyed so quickly that Rose barely had time to catch it.

Now, with her options much less significantly limited, Rose set aside several other books she felt might be useful or interesting, replacing on lower shelves the ones she could barely understand. She was distracted from her perusal when she came across the biography of Mistress Joy, as written by Mistress Kinsale of the Valley. She sat down at Maleficent's writing desk and began to flip through it.

Joy was born to a Desert Land fairy named Mira. She was the second of six children, one sister and four brothers. She was described as a small person, both in height and stature, and was therefore not as powerful as the rest of her family, but she was very quick, both in body and in mind, and she had a unique talent for talking people into agreeing with her, particularly good fairies.

Though Kinsale did not state it explicitly, it seemed that some kind of crusade against wicked fairies like Maleficent had described had been going on during Joy's early childhood. The Desert Lands were far away from the true conflict, however, and since Joy's mother had young children and a husband who was still present, she was not disturbed.

When she was nearing maturity, Joy made a controversial friend: the good fairy Terra, originally of the Black Forest. "As is often the case when a good fairy and a wicked fairy decide to overlook their ancient enmity, Joy and Terra learned a great deal from one another. Terra learned the art of defensive magic and how to think quickly to outwit an opponent, and Joy learned how to manipulate nature to do her bidding, as well as that most complex art of reading good fairy spells."

When Joy reached maturity, she sensed two things: her father was ready to abandon the family, and her mother would fight Joy to the death to defend her claim on the land. Joy decided to avoid the confrontation, depart in secret along with her father, and to travel with him and with her older brother until she could find a place to call her own.

"Joy had, in the haste of her decision, neglected to tell her friend, Terra, of her plans. The news of her departure came as a great surprise to Terra. With what devastation Terra reacted to the news came as a surprise of equal measure to her family."

The description of Terra's devastation continued for several pages. She stopped eating, barely slept, and disappeared for long stretches of time. Kinsale did not even posit a suggestion as to the cause of Terra's behavior, and Rose got the sense that she was missing a large piece of information necessary to understanding it—probably one she would know if she were a fairy. She closed the book and set it aside in favour of _Non-Aggressive Battle Magic_.

* * *

_And Yet So Far_ was a very popular and somewhat controversial romance novel by Mistress Konstanze of the Black Forest. She noted that it was based loosely upon a true story, and Mistress Joy of the Desert Lands was placed arbitrarily in a list of people Konstanze thanked for their contributions. This was for her own protection, in the case of unforeseen circumstances, and Joy had made certain that it would be absolutely impossible to trace the story back to the good fairy on whose romance the book was based. Perhaps Joy would get into a bit of trouble if her level of involvement were discerned, but that good fairy's life would be over—figuratively and, with things the way they were these days, perhaps even literally.

Joy had met Mistress Fauna of the Eastern Kingdom nearly five hundred years ago. At the time, she had been Lady Fauna of the Land in the Plains. She had been too young to be mistress of anything, and the Four Kingdoms had not quite been established yet.

Fauna had two sisters. The older sister, Flora, believed that she was Mistress of Everything She Saw. The younger, Merryweather, was rude and spoiled, and seemed to take personal offense at everything and everyone she encountered. Fauna, whose light reddish-brown hair and freckles set her apart from her dark-haired sisters, compensated for her striking appearance by being exceedingly agreeable to everyone.

Joy had first encountered the three sisters and their elderly parents on a visit to the Kingdom by the Sea. She served as a personal advisor to the Fairy Queen Titania at the time, and had been investigating Mistress Sara's complaints regarding the wicked fairy Cordelia. (That was, of course, another story entirely.) Whilst contemplating the matter, Joy had settled herself on the beach to enjoy the sunny weather; however, she had found herself woefully unable to concentrate. A family of good fairies sat not a stone's throw away from her. The parents were probably close to a thousand years old, and their children were probably not even fifty. The two dark-haired children were outright screaming at one another about something—Joy had forgotten after all this time—but the conversation went something like this:

"You're so wrong, Flora! Don't you agree, Fauna?"

"Of course I agree, Merryweather."

"Merryweather, that's complete nonsense! Isn't that nonsense, Fauna?"

"I'm sure it is, Flora."

"Flora, you are such an idiot! I'm right, aren't I, Fauna?"

"You're right, Merryweather."

Back and forth, back and forth. With a sigh, Joy stood up, strode over to the family, and planted herself between the sunlight and the elderly good fairies. She was not a person of substantial size, but she easily dwarfed this entire family. The children were undeterred from their argument, but their parents looked up and abruptly tensed. Joy smirked.

"Good afternoon," she said. "Out of curiosity, do you have any intention of controlling your offspring?"

"Please," said the woman. "We don't want any trouble."

"And nor do I," Joy replied pleasantly. "Unfortunately, I cannot hear such peaceable thoughts over the screaming of your children."

"Flora, Merryweather, be quiet!" said the woman, but her voice was weak.

"Flora, Merryweather?" Joy echoed, and mercifully, their argument ceased. The three children looked up at her, and they had the good manners to look frightened. "Your mother told you to be quiet. If my mother had told me to be quiet and I had so gleefully disobeyed, she would have cursed me into next week. Have a pleasant day."

Later, when the sun was setting, Joy took off her shoes and walked along the shore, still torn over what to tell the Queen regarding the Cordelia problem. It was true that she was not a stable person, and she had caused considerable harm in a few isolated incidents, and it was very possible that what Sara feared—that she would snap and cause a large disaster—was a legitimate concern. The complication was that she had a young daughter of limited magical—and possibly mental—ability. Joy knew how these things played out: Sara would take Cordelia out at any cost, and Cordelia's innocent daughter would be blamed for any unforeseen consequences of Sara's actions.

Somewhere in the midst of her dilemma, Joy noticed that she was not alone. A short distance ahead of her, a petite redheaded fairy was walking barefoot, ankle-deep in the water, apparently also deep in thought. Joy recognized her as the agreeable sister from the family she had accosted earlier. What was her name? Fiona? Fyora? "Fauna?"

The girl flinched and whirled around to face Joy. She bowed her head and curtseyed. "Yes, Ma'am. I am very sorry that my sisters and I disturbed you earlier."

Joy waved her hand dismissively, "Think nothing of it. What brings you here?"

"A sort of vacation," Fauna replied. "Our parents plan to stay and retire here. We'll return to the Land in the Plains and assume our responsibilities there."

"You're a bit young for that," Joy remarked.

Fauna nodded, "But there are three of us. Most of the responsibility falls on Flora, anyway. Our mother is too tired to serve as counsel to all four of the emerging kingdoms. She wants to spend the rest of her life with Father."

"Hmm," Joy replied. She had never actually seen a fairy couple who had stayed together their entire lives. "I can't imagine. That's quite an accomplishment."

Fauna nodded. "It seems impossible to me," she said sadly.

Joy chuckled. "You're also a bit young to be so cynical."

The young fairy turned upon her large, light brown eyes shimmering with tears. "Have you ever been in love?"

Joy frowned, feeling suddenly quite uncomfortable. "Have you?" she asked.

Fauna looked down at her feet and began tracing a patter in the sand with her toes. "It's impossible."

"How can you be so certain? Love is difficult, of course, but your parents managed it, didn't they?" Joy felt very strange, trying to cheer up a young good fairy with optimistic talk about a subject in which she had had miserable luck, herself.

"My family wouldn't approve. No one would."

Joy raised her eyebrows, "Why is that?" Fauna did not respond. "Nevermind, it doesn't matter," she amended. " It's my experience that someone is always going to disapprove of you even if you're exactly where you're supposed to be, keeping your mouth shut and causing no trouble. Perhaps chasing this impossible love of yours would be a difficult road, but you might find it more rewarding than spending the rest of your life telling your sisters that they're right about everything."

Fauna regarded her carefully for a moment, but then she shook her head. "I know they seem…difficult," she said. "But they're my sisters. I have a responsibility to help them. I have a responsibility to the Four Kingdoms. I have—"

"You also have a responsibility to yourself," Joy cut her off. She had no patience for good fairy drivel. "Not every fairy gets a chance to experience love. Not every person of any species gets a chance to experience true happiness. Are you going to let that slip away because your sisters told you to?"

Fauna frowned down at her clasped hands. "No," she said at last. "No, I'm not."

It was a shock to see Fauna and her sisters again after so long. Still more shocking was that, after all she knew at least one of them had gone through, they were exactly as they had been five hundred years ago. Felicity mostly spoke for all of them, much to Flora's obvious irritation. Flora, who had grown plump and whose hair had greyed, occasionally interjected unnecessary information, with which Merryweather (who had also grown plump and whose magically darkened hair was fooling no one) occasionally felt the need to argue. Fauna, who had aged far more gracefully than her sisters, remained still and silent, and kept eyeing Joy fearfully. It occurred to Joy that this woman probably had not done a very good job at having a clandestine romance, and she did her best to ignore Fauna as everyone else was doing.

She had honestly sort of forgotten about what was now the Land of Two or Three Kingdoms. The only wicked fairies who had ever bothered with it during her time as Queen 's Counsel had been nomadic males. She tried to think how long it had been—there were the three kingdoms after that war a couple of centuries back, but then the Eastern King's daughter was going to marry the Northern King's son and they were going to unite or something, but then something else happened.

She hadn't even realized that that something was Maleficent of the Dragon Country. My, my, those three little fairies were in over their heads! Joy wondered why they hadn't sought help sooner, but by the end of the meeting, she had her answer: Flora's pride. Apparently that had cost them dearly, for Maleficent was now too powerful to be imprisoned by a product of the Mountainland Fairies. She had, according to a combination of Felicity and Flora, enchanted the princess she cursed into setting her free and taken off with the girl.

Joy privately felt glad that her young friend had escaped death and was more powerful than ever, and also that she, herself, was no longer in the employ of the Fairy Queen. This way, she did not have to condemn Maleficent for her deeds, and if it became necessary, she could help her. Maleficent would need all the help she could get if the news of her power got to Mistress Sara.

Precisely two weeks after the visit from Mistress Felicity and company, Maleficent came to visit, and as it turned out, the events of her escape had been grossly exaggerated.

"So let me see if I understand you—you just_ talked_ her into freeing you?"

Maleficent nodded. "She's a very kind-hearted girl. She didn't want me to die." Joy had never seen Maleficent so calm…almost resigned. It was quite unnerving.

"Even though you wanted her to die?"

"Yes."

Joy laughed in an effort to dispel her discomfort at this new, icy demeanour of Maleficent's. "And now she's learning magic. Oh, that's funny!"

"Your sense of humour eludes me."

"What is it with the Land in the Plains and fairies falling in love with humans?" Joy mused. "There must be something in the water."

"What in Hell's name are you talking about?" Joy felt genuinely relieved that her goading had been successful—there was the Maleficent she remembered: irritable and defensive.

"First little Fauna had that disastrous affair with the boy in the Kingdom by the Sea, now you're mad about the damned Eastern Princess, of all people!"

Maleficent rolled her eyes. "Oh, I'm mad? That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. Fauna had an affair with a human?"

Joy nodded. "Of course—haven't you read Konstanze's book about the good fairy and the human?"

"I'm not much for romance novels."

"Of course you wouldn't be. But you know the story, everyone does, and I swear to you it's about Fauna."

"How can you swear to something so absurd?" asked Maleficent, clearly losing her patience.

"I'm the one who told Konstanze the story, of course," said Joy with a wave of her hand. "Now, I know you got off topic to distract me from your passionate love for the princess—"

"Enough of that!" Maleficent snapped. "She is a child!"

Joy smirked. She honestly couldn't tell whether she was right or not, but at the very least, Maleficent was acting like her usual self. "What is she, sixteen or seventeen by now? A human would very much disagree with you, Maleficent," she replied. "Anyway, I'm sure you've figured out that if Felicity convinces anyone of importance that you're more powerful than the Mountainland Fairies, you'll be hunted like a dog. I'll contact Zenovia and see if she has any ideas, but please do be on your guard. This thing with Sara is bound to come to a head soon, anyway."

Maleficent nodded curtly and made to exit. "Thank you, Joy."

"Maleficent?"

"Yes?"

"She could do a lot worse than you, you know," said Joy with a teasing smile.

Maleficent shook her head. "The heat has addled your brain, Joy," she replied, and in a burst of green flame, she was gone.

* * *

"Briar Rose."

Rose jumped and dropped her book as she whirled around to face Maleficent.

"Perhaps you ought to read a book about getting caught off guard," she said. Rose knew it was meant as a joke, but something about Maleficent was decidedly sombre.

Rose blushed. "I didn't…" she swallowed and decided to change the subject. "Is your bird all right?"

"No," Maleficent replied evenly. "He's dead. He might have been dead all this time, or I might have killed him just now," she averted her eyes briefly, but nothing else about her demeanour changed. "His statue crumbled into dust."

"I'm so sorry," Rose whispered. Without thinking, she reached out and touched Maleficent's arm. Maleficent flinched away and her eyes flashed. She all but glared at the spot where Rose's hand had touched her. "I'm sorry," said Rose once more.

"It's over now," said Maleficent, but she did not take her eyes off of her arm. "Gather the books you want and we'll go. I owe you a challenge."

Rose's eyes widened. "Oh, that's not necessary, you've just—" Maleficent's eyes met hers and Rose stopped talking. Maleficent had just suffered yet another loss. There was no need to point it out.

Rose picked up the small pile of books she had assembled for herself and turned back to Maleficent, who was gazing at nothing in particular. Maleficent opened her arms to Rose and transported them back to the castle in the Dragon Country.

Once Rose had gotten over the feeling of being nowhere—and had, consequently, stopped clutching onto Maleficent for dear life, she placed the books next to the chair she had usually occupied, next to Maleficent's, before her many months of solitude.

"Are you ready?" asked Maleficent, her tone just as calm and hollow as it had been for two days.

Rose nodded silently.

Maleficent set aside her staff. "Very well. You know how to block spells, correct?"

"Yes."

"I'll begin with verbal incantations. _Sisto_!"

Long, thin streams of purple light burst from Maleficent's fingertips. Rose crossed her arms and cried, "_Contego_!" The streams of light bounced off of an invisible shield a breath away from her crossed arms.

Before Rose had time to relax her arms, Maleficent cried "_Verto_!"

"_Contego_!" The spell knocked her back a few steps, but her shield kicked in before it could do any real damage—not that Rose knew what either of those spells was meant to achieve.

"Very good," said Maleficent. She folded her arms and examined her fingernails on one hand. "But I wouldn't relax if I were you. This is a challenge, after all." The hand she had seemed to examine innocuously suddenly made a sweeping gesture, now holding some kind of ball of energy which came barreling toward Rose. Rose brought up her arms to shield herself, but she was too late. The energy ball hit her in the stomach and knocked her off her feet.

Rose winced when her backside hit the floor, but she realized shortly thereafter that the energy ball hadn't actually hurt her. She looked up at Maleficent, who was offering her hand.

"I know," said Rose. "I relaxed."

"Well, yes, but the _Contego_ is best as a long-term shield. For something like that, you could simply have caught it and thrown it back at me."

Rose frowned. "But then wouldn't it have hurt you?"

Maleficent raised one eyebrow. It was the most expressive her features had been all day. "It would hurt whoever failed to catch it. Would you like to try again?"

Rose nodded and Maleficent threw another energy ball at her. She wasn't an expert at catching things, but she was a great deal better than her three non-aunts. She used both of her hands to catch the ball, just to be safe. It felt strange to hold—it didn't really touch her hand, and yet she could feel it there all the same. Rose gazed at the ball of energy for a moment in wonder before she remembered her surroundings. She looked up at Maleficent, who gazed back stoically, and she realized that the only reason she felt all right about throwing a spell back at her was because she knew Maleficent would catch it.

Maleficent did not catch it so much as she struck it back in Rose's direction. Rose was caught by surprise, but she caught the ball with her right hand and threw it back. So it went back and forth several times until Maleficent hit the ball some odd way so that it spiraled, and Rose, caught off guard once more, froze and allowed the energy ball to knock her to the ground.

"You saw the spell coming and you saw that its path was unpredictable," said Maleficent as she helped Rose to her feet once more. "That might have been a good time to do what?"

Rose sighed. "Use a shield?"

Maleficent nodded.

"I'm hopeless."

"No, you're slow on your feet. You'll get better with practice. Once more."

They continued practicing with the harmless energy spell until Rose could think of an appropriate response to a handful of different techniques Maleficent used to cast the spell. Rose became increasingly frustrated that she had to be fed each of these responses by Maleficent after first being hit by the spell for lack of any reaction at all, but after several tries, her reaction time did seem to get a bit better.

As they practiced for perhaps the twentieth time, Rose noted that she felt hyper-alert. Her eyes were dry from not blinking enough and her heart rate was consistently faster and louder than normal. Maleficent was unnervingly calm, which Rose found irritating. What must it be like to be so far above her opponent's skill level that she needn't even break a sweat?

With a cry of frustration, Rose grabbed the energy ball with both hands and threw it hard at Maleficent's legs. Maleficent held out one hand and the energy ball disappeared into the air in front of her knees. She smiled. "Now you're beginning to think creatively. Are you tired?"

Rose, who was still wide-eyed and panting, holding her hands in front of her at the ready, shook her head.

"Very well. Let's continue."

Maleficent fired another glowing ball of energy at her, but this one was reddish and almost appeared to be on fire. Rose hit it back with the side of her arm, and the ball burned her skin. Rose gasped, less from the pain and more because Maleficent was raising the stakes. Maleficent caught the fireball, evidently without harm to herself, and blew upon it. Rose quickly raised the Contego shield before the flames could reach her and she kept it up for as long as she could while she waited for what Maleficent would try next.

Instead, Maleficent began walking toward her. This in itself would have been intimidating and caused Rose to back away in equal measure, for Maleficent's presence even when she was obviously in a good humour made no secret of the danger she posed. What was even more frightening, and it caused Rose's mouth to become dry and her heart to pound in her throat, was that the hollow, empty quality of her voice was now visible in her eyes. Black eyes which usually shone with depth and intelligence were flat, glazed over, emotionless. Rose shivered.

"Stay back," she croaked, but of course such a weak command accomplished nothing. Rose tried to ignore the terror in her heart as she gazed into Maleficent's eyes and she stood her ground. "Stay back!" she said again, firmly. The spell hit Maleficent, but it scarcely even knocked her back one step.

"Many people, particularly mortal men, believe that practitioners of magic can only fight at range," said Maleficent. She was still walking toward Rose, who was stumbling backward across the great hall, trying not to lose her footing on the uneven floor. "They will try to get close to you, not only because they believe they can overpower you, but because they believe they can frighten you."

Rose's heel hit a stone in the floor which stuck out slightly, and she flew back several steps to maintain her balance. Maleficent was undeterred in her steady approach. "They're correct," said Rose.

Maleficent shook her head. "They are incorrect. With magic in your veins, you are stronger than a dozen men. If you can believe in that, there's no reason to be frightened."

Rose tried to think _Stand back!_ very hard inside of her head, to cast the spell without Maleficent's notice. Not only did the spell barely even move Maleficent one step back, Maleficent definitely noticed. She smiled mirthlessly. "You find me frightening now."

Rose nodded. She felt her eyes stinging and had to force herself to blink.

"It's about time," she said with a small flourish of her hand which made Rose flinch. "Suppose I am not magical. I am still strong, quick, and I know how to fight hand-to-hand. I think if I can get close enough to you, your magic will be useless to stop me."

Rose tried to take quicker steps backward, to put more distance between them, but to her horror, her hands hit the wall on the opposite side of the room from where they had begun.

"Suppose I have you cornered," said Maleficent with a tilt of her head. Rose began to tremble.

In one fluid motion which was almost too fast to fully comprehend, Maleficent was upon her. She held Rose's wrists above her head with one hand and pressed the other arm against her chest, just below her throat. "What are you going to do?" Maleficent whispered.

Rose could feel Maleficent's breath against her cheek. Her eyes darted nervously around her, but Maleficent was everywhere. She looked up into Maleficent's eyes and she considered for an instant the last time she had been this close to the wicked fairy. That time, Maleficent had been the one who was trapped. She had been the one whose eyes were overflowing with emotion, silently begging Rose to set her free.

"I don't know," Rose choked. She hadn't realized she was crying.

Maleficent's lip curled. "Push me away."

"What?"

"Push me away," Maleficent repeated, a breath away from Rose's face.

"What do you mean? I can't!" Rose stammered.

"Yes, you can."

"You're stronger than I am! You've p-proven that quite clearly."

"I'm not using any magic," Maleficent said. "I'm nothing more than a mortal who has trapped you."

But of course she was so much more. She was Maleficent, someone so impossibly immortal that the idea of her being just another person was absurd. She was Maleficent, for whom Rose had come to care so dearly in their short time together, in spite of Maleficent's unwillingness and even inability to understand that. She was Maleficent, whom Rose found she wanted so desperately to be close to that even this was somehow alluring to her.

"No, you're not," Rose replied through her tears. Her body now contracted with painful sobs, and she could not stop trembling.

"Push me away!" Maleficent cried, unphased.

"I can't!"

"You can't, or you won't?" she growled.

It struck Rose as quite twisted that Maleficent's question was not wholly ungrounded in truth. "Please, stop!" she sobbed.

"Do you think someone who wanted to hurt you would stop if you asked him to?"

"No, but I thought you would!" Rose shot back. She did finally succeed in pushing Maleficent's hands off of her, but it was because Maleficent let go. Rose crumpled into a heap against the wall and wiped at her eyes until she could see again. She curled herself into a ball and breathed deeply until she could convince herself that she was no longer in immediate danger. Her thoughts were a jumbled mess, and she could not quite grasp onto a tangible reason why she was out of harm's way, but she managed to calm her hysteria before she looked up to see that she was alone in the great hall of Maleficent's castle.

Rose lay back against the stone wall, exhausted and at a loss for what to do.

She wanted to leave, but she didn't really have anywhere to go. This had been her home for almost a year, and winter was approaching. She would not survive for long if left to her own devices. What was more, Maleficent felt that something must have very recently gone wrong in this land which had taken out most of the dragons and many of the humans. As demonstrated by what had just happened, Rose was not yet even nearly equipped to defend herself if she should run into any kind of trouble.

Suddenly it occurred to her that there was somewhere she could go, if only she knew how to get there. Kinsale would surely take her in, and what was more, she would probably have some insight on what had come over Maleficent to make her act that way. Empowered by her newfound hope, Rose stood up on shaking legs and made her way upstairs.

The door to Maleficent's room was closed. Rose supposed that solved the mystery of where she had gone. Rose's borrowed room was not exactly the way she had left it, however. One of the books on defensive magic which she had not yet read was sitting on her bed.

Rose had put this book aside because all of the spells seemed rather long and difficult, and she didn't yet feel up to the challenge. She couldn't imagine why Maleficent had left it out for her—she felt more exhausted than she ever had in her life, as though stores of energy she hadn't even known existed had been completely sapped. Still, she picked up the book and turned to the contents.

Mirror an Attack  
Deflect an Attack onto Someone Else  
Delay the Effects of Some Common Spells  
Transport Yourself Elsewhere  
Temporarily Separate your Limbs from your Body  
Catch an Attack…

"Transport Yourself Elsewhere…" Rose whispered to herself as she flipped to the appropriate page.

The incantation was only one line, and part of it was describing the place you wanted to go. The book noted that the main problem was concentration. "If you do not concentrate completely upon being in your intended location, if even a small part of you is trapped where you are, you might find that small part of yourself rather painfully left behind."

Rose ran her finger over the incantation as she tried to remember every detail of Kinsale's homestead, a large, sprawling mansion surrounded by a high wall, in turn surrounded by the greenest valley she had ever seen.

_I am not here. I am…_

Rose curled herself into a ball on her bed. She did not know why exactly—somehow she felt it would be easier to concentrate on getting her entire body somewhere else if it was as small as possible.

"I am not here," Rose began to chant. "I am in the Valley Kingdom. I am not here. I am in the Valley Kingdom. I am not here…"

And indeed she was no longer there. Rose experienced that terrifying sensation of being nowhere, and for an instant, she panicked. What if she got stuck between places?

"I am not here. I am in the Valley Kingdom," she began again, squeezing her eyes shut and trying very hard to ignore the fact that she was not sitting on anything. She hugged her knees even closer to her body. She forgot about everything else that had happened that day and concentrated entirely on her image of the valley where Kinsale lived. "I am not here. I am in the Valley Kingdom. I am not here. I am in the…"

Rose felt solid ground beneath her and crisp autumn air on her face, and she opened her eyes. She sat atop a hill, looking down into a valley where a sprawling mansion sat amid colourful flowers and falling leaves. She smiled and collapsed upon the ground, shivering with how good it felt to be _somewhere_—she had done it.

* * *

Ever since that most unpleasant visit from the good fairies of the Eastern Kingdom, Kinsale had played host to a never-ending stream of unfriendly visitors tossing about lofty threats, and today was no exception. Mistress Zalia of the Desert Lands had never been a warm and fuzzy sort of person, nor had anyone in her family, but something had changed in her since last they had spoken. There was something in her eyes which bothered Kinsale—some emptiness, some loss which had caused her to seem, instead of calm and stoic, frantic and somewhat deranged.

"You don't seem to grasp the seriousness of what I'm trying to tell you," said Zalia at present.

"You're trying to tell me that Mistress Sara intends to hunt down and destroy my kin, am I correct?"

The good fairy nodded.

"That isn't news to me, Zalia," said Kinsale, suddenly feeling very tired.

Zalia frowned, and the wild look in her eyes grew more pronounced. "You don't understand—I found a wicked fairy masquerading as a human in the Desert Lands. I told my sister about it, she reported it to Sara, and Sara sent her to capture the fairy immediately. She'd been hiding for almost a century."

"Who was she?" Kinsale asked, her brow furrowed.

Zalia shrugged. "Confidential. Doesn't matter now."

"I suppose not. Still, I'd say Sara will need more resources before she takes on an entire species."

Zalia sighed and stood. "Very well. Don't say I never warned you."

As if to emphasize Zalia's point, Kinsale's alarm sounded. Kinsale waved it off and pressed her fingers to her throat. "WHO GOES THERE?"

"M…Mistress Kinsale?" a most familiar voice called. Kinsale frowned. "It's Br…it's Aurora."

"Aurora?" murmured Zalia, and then her eyes snapped up to meet Kinsale's. "I might have known."

Kinsale stood and held out her hand for her staff, which she held across her body. "She's obviously alone." But why? Something must have happened. Was Maleficent all right? Was Aurora all right?

"You have such faith in your _friend_," Zalia sneered, drawing her wand. "Are you so stupid that you'd let Maleficent kill you before Sara even tries?"

"You know nothing of what you're saying," Kinsale replied coolly. "This matter is none of your business. Now, I'm going to let the girl in, and you are going to show yourself out. Is that clear?"

"Very well," Zalia replied. She began walking backwards to the front door, wand still drawn. Kinsale raised one hand to open the wall for Aurora, but she kept her staff at the ready.

Aurora pulled open one of Kinsale's front doors and hesitantly stepped inside. Zalia spun around, wrapped one arm around Aurora's waist, and pointed her wand at the girl's throat.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N:** Thank you very much for your reviews, follows, and favourites! Feedback in any form is much appreciated!

* * *

**Chapter 10 – The Instinct**

Aurora stood like a statue. She gasped, but she did not scream.

Kinsale flew across the room. She stopped a short distance from Zalia and Aurora and brandished her staff. "Hello, Aurora," she said evenly. "I'd introduce you, but Mistress Zalia was just leaving."

Zalia smiled and Kinsale's heart began to pound. "You know, I could just return the girl to Felicity's friends for you. Might save you more trouble than you know."

"If you do, you'll bring my wrath and Maleficent's down on your head," Kinsale replied. "Besides, I suspect they want her in one piece."

"You wanna tell me where your fairy friend is keeping herself?" Zalia snarled into Aurora's ear. Aurora squeezed her eyes shut. "She using you as bait? Come on, you can tell me! I'm on your side!" Aurora shook her head.

Zalia had completely lost focus—she continued to whisper threats and questions into Aurora's ear, eyes half-shut. Kinsale silently disarmed her and physically threw her off of Aurora, who immediately clung to Kinsale.

"You're mad, Kinsale," said Zalia once she had regained her footing. "I'll see to it that you pay for helping that fiend."

"Begone!" Kinsale cried, and with a wave of her staff, Zalia went flying through the front door, which slammed behind her.

Kinsale looked down at Aurora, whose trembling arms were wrapped tightly around her waist. She shifted awkwardly and threw down her staff so that she could return the embrace. "It's all right, dear," she whispered. "She's gone now."

Aurora did not move, and her trembling did not cease. Kinsale gently stroked Aurora's hair and tried again. "I am terribly sorry about that. One must be very cautious around good fairies these days."

Aurora showed no sign of even having heard her. Kinsale tilted her head and placed a hand gently under Aurora's chin. "Aurora, what's happened?" she asked. Aurora finally looked up at Kinsale, her violet blue eyes still shining with fear. Kinsale gently wiped away her tears and smoothed her hair. "There, there," she said. "You're safe."

The fear in Aurora's eyes did not lessen, but she took several deep breaths and prepared to speak. "I'm sorry," said Aurora quietly. "I've had a rather frightening day."

"Come, come, have a seat!" said Kinsale, incredibly relieved. "I'll make you some tea." She escorted Aurora to the nearest tea table and conjured up her best cup of chamomile. Aurora thanked her quietly and took a few long sips. Kinsale watched her carefully. She wanted to ask again what had happened, but she hoped that Aurora might be more inclined to talk when she had calmed down.

And indeed, Aurora set her cup down and thought for a moment before she spoke. "Maleficent's bird died," she said.

"Oh," said Kinsale. "Well, that's…" Not exactly what she had been expecting. "That's too bad."

Aurora looked up at her. "I know it doesn't make sense, but it seems important in my mind," she explained. "She's lost so many people, and then she lost her bird this morning, and she seemed somehow…empty." Aurora frowned. "And then she was helping me practice magic and suddenly she wasn't helping anymore. She was frightening, and there was that emptiness in her eyes, and she had me cornered…" Rose bit her lip and thought for a moment. "She trapped me," she said, surprised. She rubbed her right wrist with her left hand, "She held me up against a wall. And then she was gone." She shook her head. "But I couldn't stay there any longer."

When Aurora fell silent, Kinsale considered what she had said. Maleficent had lost her pet raven, Diablo, yet another loss to add to the long list which had accumulated in her short lifetime, and it had somehow been more than she could bear. And then she had lashed out at Aurora. Physically. That was odd.

The curious thing about Maleficent was that you'd expect her to be the type to lash out when she was feeling vulnerable, but she seldom did. Kinsale imagined Maleficent could be very physically intimidating, especially to a small girl like Aurora. Still more bizarre, she was a very skilled fighter, with various human weapons and with her bare hands—Kinsale had personally seen her in action. However, Maleficent had cultivated these things so that physical aggression could be her last resort. She was never physical unless someone else was physical first—this applied to her friends as well as her enemies. Maleficent had grown up in a situation where a friendly tap on the shoulder was unheard of. A century ago in the Dragon Country, one had to be prepared for a fight to the death every time one went outside. Additionally, Maleficent's mother had been physically violent, which was perhaps the biggest reason that Maleficent was not.

"I don't think I'll ever be able to use magic," said Aurora, her voice still unnervingly neutral. "Not when it counts. I couldn't do as Maleficent asked and I couldn't save myself just now."

"Nonsense—you've only been training for a few months," Kinsale murmured, still somewhat distracted by her thoughts. _Do as Maleficent asked_…this situation was perplexing.

"Why would she…? I mean, she's done a lot of unpleasant things, but she's never threatened me like that before."

Kinsale took a sip of her tea before she answered. "I wish I knew."

"Am I mad, thinking that this is unusual?" Aurora asked no one in particular. Her shoulders sagged. "There was a time not so long ago when she wanted me to die. Perhaps it was stupid of me to think that had changed."

"You're not mad, Aurora," Kinsale replied. "If you want my opinion, I don't think she had it in her to kill you even before you saved her life. She certainly wouldn't now. I imagine she's frightened, with this rumour going around that she's stronger than the Chains of Avasina, but it still makes no sense that she'd take it out on you."

While Kinsale continued to consider various scenarios which could have led to bizarre behavior on the part of her friend, Aurora spoke once more, "Who is Zalia?"

"A good fairy from the northern part of the Desert Lands," said Kinsale, glad to have a simple answer to something. "Her older sister is very high in Mistress Sara's ranks."

"Did she come to tell you something, or are you friends?" asked Aurora, something of an edge in her voice.

Kinsale sighed. "You know, even a decade ago I would have said we were friends. No, she came to tell me that Sara is plotting against my species, which of course I already knew."

Aurora bit her lip and thought for a moment. "Soon?" she asked quietly.

Kinsale took a minute to study Aurora. She looked as though she hadn't had a decent night of sleep in ages, and there was a certain sadness in her eyes. Kinsale had seen a trace of it before, but at the time, it had been overshadowed by Aurora's curiosity and thirst for adventure. Much had befallen Aurora, but at that time, the princess had just taken action against her fate. Kinsale wondered whether Aurora knew what would befall her if she continued to keep company with wicked fairies.

"That depends upon your definition of soon," Kinsale said carefully. "Then again, perhaps it's already begun."

"Maleficent made it sound like there was…" she swallowed and averted her eyes, "more time. Time for me to become a sorceress, even."

"Ah," Kinsale frowned. What in Hell's name was Maleficent playing at? "Well, there's certainly that." She could think of nothing else to say, and so they sat in silence for several minutes.

"I meant to ask you…" Aurora said at last. "What were you going to suggest I say to her? Do you remember?"

"Oh, that…" Kinsale was really rather glad she hadn't imparted that bit of wisdom. "It's not important."

"Please, tell me? I just…" she began to fidget with her dress "I want to know if it's something I could have avoided."

"Oh, no," Kinsale said quickly. "This wasn't your fault, Aurora. You must know that."

"No, I…I know that….but I'd still like to know."

"I really…" Kinsale wanted to deny her, but she realized there would be little point in it. She imagined the princess had spent a great deal of time being denied information for her own protection. "Well, it's as you said: Maleficent has lost a great deal of people in her lifetime. She's always been a bit…prickly, shall we say?...when anyone tried to reach out to her. I suspect she tried so hard to keep you at arm's length because she knew sooner or later you wouldn't need her anymore. Do you follow me?"

"Not really," said Aurora.

Kinsale thought for a moment, then tried again, "If she could convince herself that you were only using her for protection and knowledge, she wouldn't feel the loss so keenly when you inevitably left."

"But I wouldn't have left if she hadn't been so deliberately frightening!" Aurora shook her head. "And I still don't understand—what was your advice going to be?"

"You're getting a bit ahead of me," Kinsale said with a smile. "What I just told you was the information on which I based my intended advice half a year ago. I was going to say that you should tell her something to the effect of…while you were grateful for her protection, you also thought of her as a friend, and that you did not intend to break contact with her once your circumstances changed."

"Tell her that I wasn't going to leave her. But then I did," Aurora echoed, looking quite stricken.

"No, no, you were right to leave!" Kinsale clarified, reaching out to touch Aurora's arm. "Maleficent had no right to make you feel unsafe."

Aurora regarded her outstretched hand with surprise. "I did tell her the first bit, actually," she said, directing her speech at Kinsale's hand on her arm. "Yesterday. And she seemed to believe me. Glad I didn't guess at the other half of your suggestion."

"Aurora, you mustn't blame yourself."

"I suppose this isn't the first time this sort of thing has happened. Perhaps that's why she found it so hard to believe that I could possibly enjoy her company."

"Aurora! Listen to me!"

Aurora looked up, wide-eyed. "I'm sorry," she said. "I know it isn't my fault. Still, I can't help but feel that she behaved oddly. There's quite a difference between her usual prickly behavior and what happened today. Don't you think so?"

Kinsale nodded, "I do. It's very unlike her. But it's not your responsibility to figure it out if it puts you in any kind of danger, do you understand me?"

Aurora nodded silently.

"Now, how about you tell me what brought you here calmly and without spiraling into self-loathing, hmm?" Kinsale raised one eyebrow pointedly and Aurora rewarded her with a small, embarrassed smile.

"This morning…it seems so long ago, but it was this morning…we went to the Forbidden Mountains. She went to try to revive her bird and I sat in her library and waited. She came in, told me her bird was dead, and then we went home because she had promised me she would test me on my magic. I told her she didn't need to if she was mourning her bird, but it….I don't know, it seemed like maybe she didn't want to dwell on it."

Kinsale nodded. Denial sounded about right.

Aurora thought for a moment, "She had been throwing spells for me to block for…I don't know, a long time. Then suddenly she stopped and started walking toward me, saying something about people thinking that magic would be powerless if they got close enough to me."

Also classic Maleficent.

"Then suddenly she had me cornered," Aurora continued, becoming distressed as she recounted the tale. Kinsale took her hand. "And then she caught my wrists in one hand and held me against the wall with the other. And she told me to push her away." Aurora looked up, "Push Maleficent away! There's no way I could have! But she kept telling me to push her away, I kept saying I couldn't, I begged her to stop, and then she was suddenly just…gone." Aurora frowned and shook her head, "Does that make any sense to you?"

Kinsale squeezed Aurora's hand as she thought. "I'd like to reassure you that she wasn't actually lying to you," she said. "If someone without magic ever does try to restrain you, you can easily overpower even the strongest of men with your magic."

"Oh," said Aurora simply. She bit her lip.

"But there's no way you could have learned how to do that under such strenuous circumstances," Kinsale quickly amended. "I only tell you that so you won't fear you've misjudged Maleficent. And of course because it's a useful skill to have. What was I saying? Misjudged Maleficent. Oh yes, I…I am trying very hard to be objective here, Aurora, but Maleficent has been my friend for nearly a century. I want very badly to believe that there was some reason for what she did to you, but I don't want to sound like I'm excusing her behavior. Do you understand?"

Aurora nodded and gave her a rueful smile, "I want to believe it as much as you do."

Kinsale patted Aurora's cheek and smiled. "So tell me, how is it you got here?"

Aurora pursed her lips, "When I realized Maleficent had left, I went upstairs to my room and there was a book in the middle of my bed that had the spell for Transporting Yourself Elsewhere. I…well, I didn't know of anywhere else I could go."

"Oh, Aurora, I hope you know you're always welcome here!" Kinsale assured her. "I am relieved to hear that the spell worked for you, though. The first time I tried that one, I left one of my arms on the other side of the room."

Aurora cringed.

"Sorry. Too much information," Kinsale felt herself beginning to ramble as her thoughts ran wild. "Anyway, that's a bit of a relief, really. It sounds like Maleficent just wanted to scare you away for some reason. Her methods are rather helter-skelter, just hoping you'd figure out her whimsical little riddle and end up somewhere safe and in one piece, but it's a bit less damning than actually intending to harm you."

"So she doesn't just hate me?" Aurora asked meekly.

Kinsale looked at her, surprised. She hadn't actually been paying too much attention to the words coming out of her mouth, and she hoped that she wasn't making light of what was most certainly a grievous error on the part of her friend. Still, she knew she could answer at least this question with absolute certainty. "Of course not!" she replied, choosing her next words far more carefully. "She's a troubled person, Aurora. She just…doesn't express her affection in ways that are easy to understand. Or, you know…acceptable."

Aurora looked down at her hand in Kinsale's and smiled. "You're very good at being comforting," she said. "I hope you won't think me rude, but I have no way of knowing how old you are. Do you have children? I can't help but think what a good mother you would make."

Kinsale took a long sip of her tea before she replied. "Thank you, Aurora," she said. "No, I don't have any children. For future reference, most fairies don't mind being asked about their age, particularly because I'm given to understand that it's next to impossible for a human to make even a rough estimate. Though I've never had the opportunity to ask a human before—how old would you say I am, just looking at me?" Kinsale knew she had been babbling again, but Aurora seemed too tired to have noticed.

She shrugged, "Twenty-something?" Kinsale laughed and Aurora blushed.

"What a compliment!" said Kinsale. "How old do you think Maleficent is?"

"When I first saw her, I thought she was around thirty."

Kinsale chuckled, "You thought I was younger than Maleficent?"

Aurora fidgeted with her dress. "Well, it all became very confusing when I learned of all of the things you had both done in your lives. And Maleficent told me that you were already very famous by the time she met you."

Kinsale raised an eyebrow, "She told you how we met?"

"Vaguely," Aurora replied. "She was…in hiding or something? And you invited her to a party?"

"My," said Kinsale, feeling a wave of conflicting emotions. "You know, it's impressive," she said, in an attempt to be light-hearted, "Maleficent managed to tell you how we met and still divulge absolutely nothing about herself."

Aurora gave a small, half-hearted chuckle. "She's quite good at that. Why—is there something important that she left out?"

Kinsale smiled warmly. Aurora had had enough surprises for one day. "I'll tell you another time," she said. "You could use a good night's sleep. You're of course welcome to stay here for as long as you like," she offered hopefully. Kinsale had lived alone for almost a century now, and with the climate what it was between fairies, she didn't think it wise to throw large parties anymore. "As you've witnessed, I've been plagued by some rather ungracious guests of late, but I assure you I'm more than equipped to keep you out of harm's way."

"Oh, thank you, Kinsale! You're certain I won't be too much of a burden?"

Kinsale grinned. "A burden? Nonsense! I'd be thrilled to have the company, really." She stood and cleared away the tea. "You can stay in the guest room. I'd prefer you lock it with your handprint if you don't mind, just in case. Do you know how?" Aurora shook her head. "I'll show you—we'll stop by the library and add your handprint to that door. All the extra security is a bit irritating, but one can't be too careful these days. And I'll of course be happy to help you with your magic if you feel up to it again soon."

Kinsale led Aurora upstairs, showed her the new lock on the library—well, not new so much as never-been-used-so-frequently—and then showed her how to lock the guest room in the same way. "Come and find me when you wake if you'd like," said Kinsale as she conjured up and arranged some hygiene necessities for her human guest. "You're of course welcome anywhere in my home, and the gardens outside are quite safe. I only hope the stone wall doesn't make you feel caged in."

Aurora laughed—it was a tired, hoarse sound, but genuine and relaxed. "It would take more than stone walls to make me feel caged in," she said.

Kinsale could not bring herself to return Aurora's smile. "Well," she began with no idea how she would finish the thought, reaching out and squeezing Aurora's shoulder. "If you need anything, I'll be up a bit longer. My room is at the end of the hall."

"Thank you, Kinsale," said Aurora. "I can't thank you enough."

Kinsale smiled and waved her hand, "Nonsense. You're the one doing me a favour. You'll realize that in a few days when I've talked your ear off." She winked and made to leave.

"Kinsale?"

"Yes, dear?"

"How old are you?"

"Three hundred and ninety-four." She waited for a response, but the only one she received was stunned silence. "Sweet dreams, Aurora."

"Good night," Aurora murmured.

Kinsale closed the door to the guest room behind her and went upstairs. She had always loved the large room that served as the third floor of her house, because it had a very large window from which she could see out but no one could see in. She did most of her writing up here, though she hadn't done any lately. She was too ill at ease.

Perhaps with another person around she would feel better. Kinsale did not do well alone, and Aurora might do well with a lot of attention.

The sky was that lovely shade of deep blue which occurred just after the sun had set. The moon was waxing—it would be full within a week or two. "Hestia," Kinsale whispered into the night.

The peach-coloured dove called Hestia cooed her reply before appearing promptly at the window. Kinsale conjured up some seeds for her and then went to her writing desk. She took up a bit of parchment and wrote a simple message.

She's here.

I hope you have a very good explanation for what you've done.

I'm very sorry to hear about Diablo.

With love,  
Kinsale

* * *

"Ladies?" called Felicity's youngest sister, early in the morning as was her custom. "You've received word from the Eastern King!"

Fauna emerged half-awake from her bedroom to find the suite deserted. Hesitantly, she answered the door and took the letter. "Thank you, Charity," she said. "How are you today?"

Charity, who looked much like Felicity, only smaller and with brown eyes, smiled insincerely. "Very well, thank you. There are carrier pigeons upstairs awaiting your reply. Good day to you."

Fauna was fairly certain that Charity did not remember her name. "Good day."

She closed the door and gazed at the letter marked with King Stefan's seal. She knew she ought to wait for her sisters to get back from wherever it was they had gone, and she knew Flora would be quite upset with her if she opened it first, but she didn't see the harm. She was certain she knew what the letter was about—she was surprised it hadn't come sooner—and she hoped Flora felt the same way.

Mistresses Flora, Fauna, and Merryweather,

I have not received word from you regarding the search for the Princess Aurora, and for the Evil One responsible for her disappearance. I trust that you are all focused upon the goal of bringing my daughter home and bringing the Evil One to justice; however, I am writing to request an update regarding your travels so far, your current location, your future plans, and any relevant information you might have obtained since last we spoke.

In addition, I require the services of a Counsel to aid in our plans to unite with the Kingdom of the North. I trust that you are all equally qualified to do so and therefore request the services of the one of you who is least vital to the goal of finding and returning Princess Aurora to the Kingdom of the East, and to finding and destroying the Evil One responsible for her disappearance. However, if you believe it is necessary that all three of you should continue the search, I will not object.

I await your prompt response.

Kind regards,

King Stefan of the East

Fauna's five hundred and forty-two years of life had been, for the most part, an endless expanse of grey drudgery. She had spent most of her youth apologizing, feeling guilty for her existence and the trouble it seemed to cause people. She had spent most of her adulthood agreeing with her sisters to avoid conflict, to avoid change, to avoid anything at all. In the very heart of her dull, dismal, grey canvas of existence had been a splash of blinding colour, painfully beautiful in its garishness. Fauna had found that to live fully was to know anguish, and she had decided to resign herself to what was ostensibly her fate: to keep more than simple peace. Fauna's role in this world for nearly five hundred years now had been to maintain absolute stasis.

Had this whole mess never have happened, she would have fulfilled her role admirably. Maleficent would have been no more, Rose would have married Prince Philip, and the United Kingdoms of North and East would have declared a Golden Age of Prosperity—the end of that menace known as the Evil One, Mistress Maleficent. In all probability, that Golden Age would have lasted for the rest of Fauna's life. Fauna and her sisters might never have known that there was a war brewing just outside the borders of their land.

As it stood, however, they knew. And Flora and Merryweather seemed utterly captivated by Mistress Sara's notion of a world without wicked fairies, and wholly in favour of whatever gruesome means were required to secure such a paradise.

Fauna, on the other hand, felt a peculiar sensation which was the combination of a sinking in her stomach and a growing certainty in her heart: she had to do something.

What exactly it was that she, a fairy with limited power and absolutely no clout with anyone, was going to do about anything was a detail which still eluded her. But Fauna had lived for half a millennium standing idly by and doing nothing. She somehow knew that if she felt she must act, she must act in whatever fashion she could think of.

Flora and Merryweather, who had been engaged in a meeting with Felicity for which they hadn't bothered to awaken Fauna (for she had been awfully finicky about the whole matter for whatever reason), returned about two hours after sunrise to quite a surprise. Fauna was nowhere to be found. In her place, she left the letter from King Stefan and a note of her own.

Flora, Merryweather,

I've gone to serve as Counsel to King Stefan. I thought it would be obvious that I'm the least useful in our current endeavors, and I didn't want to waste any time in departing. I already responded with details of our search and an estimation of my arrival date, so there's no need to worry about that. Please keep me posted on your endeavours and do be sure to keep the King posted on news of the princess.

Love,  
Fauna

* * *

Mistress Zenovia was not much of a "fairies" fairy. She was a scholar, a writer, a devoted practitioner of her craft. Not only did she have little time for idle prattle with young fairies digging for compliments or advice, she had precious little patience for it. She most certainly did not have time for all of this mail.

Zenovia received mail once weekly, at sunrise on Monday morning. She had long since enchanted a flock of owls to intercept any mail she might receive at any less agreeable time, to be delivered to her at her convenience. Unfortunately, the owls were not very good at guessing what was worth delivering and what was utter nonsense.

This week, in addition to two books she had ordered and a brief note from her niece, she had received all of three seemingly extraneous correspondences. One was from Mistress Kinsale of the Valley, who was prone to nonsense. Another was from Mistress Sara of the Sea, who was not. The third was from Mistress Joy of the Desert, who harboured an inexplicable fondness for humour, but who generally kept her correspondences mercifully to the point.

Zenovia considered tossing Kinsale's letter without reading it, or at the very least reading it first to get it over with, but she imagined Kinsale was well aware of Zenovia's feelings toward her and would not contact her simply to catch up.

She opted instead for Sara's letter. Words did not quite do justice to Zenovia's feelings toward Sara. A few centuries ago, Sara had been a mere annoyance, a precocious young thing who saw fit to put an end by any means necessary to a wicked fairy thousands of years her senior out of some deluded sense of heroism. Now, however, she was the bane of every wicked fairy's existence. She had somehow come upon the idea that the world would be a perfect place without any wicked fairies at all and had spent the past century or so gathering zealous followers to attempt to wipe an entire species out of existence because she felt that the universe would be more pleasing to her that way.

Zenovia despised Sara and everyone and everything associated with her. Unfortunately, she was too powerful to be ignored, and with this in mind, Zenovia tore open her letter first.

Mistress Zenovia,

I hope this letter finds you well.

It has come to my attention that a fellow Wicked Fairy and a former acquaintance of yours has become quite the menace to society, hers and that of the world at large. Mistress Maleficent of the Eastern Kingdom recently used magic while imprisoned by the Chains of Avasina in order to free herself, and she took the young princess with her as a hostage.

The situation is urgent. The Good Fairies of the East are not well-connected and they were unaware of the ramifications of Maleficent's advanced magical power. I request in the interest of the Eastern Royals that you locate your pupil and rescue the princess if she is still alive. I would hate for an innocent girl to be caught in the crossfire of Maleficent's punishment.

Regards,  
Sara

Zenovia chuckled mirthlessly to herself. That letter translated roughly to "do as I say or I'll have you killed in the most agonizing way possible, as opposed to the painless death you'll experience if you comply." She ripped the letter neatly in two and set the two halves on fire.

Kinsale's note was riddled with senseless pleasantries, but the gist of it was in the fourth paragraph.

"I am writing you because I feel that this conflict with Mistress Sara is coming to a head, and I believe that it may be related to Maleficent of the Dragon Country. Maleficent recently ran into some trouble in the Eastern Kingdom. She was Chained, but the kind-hearted princess agreed to set her free in exchange for her own freedom. It seems there has been a misunderstanding regarding how Maleficent's freedom was obtained, and Maleficent now finds herself at a bit of a loss for what to do. I hoped that I might appeal to you as her former teacher and friend and ask if you have any ideas on how to rectify this situation. Your help would be…" on and on and on. Zenovia was glad Kinsale had never written any magic books—she wouldn't have been able to stomach them.

Two notes from two very different people, and they both had one thing in common: Maleficent.

Now, Zenovia was rather fond of Maleficent. Maleficent had, at a very young age, proven her worth as a sorceress, and Zenovia had agreed to train her for a time. Zenovia found her to be talented, intelligent, and a no-nonsense sort of person. Maleficent's friendship with a person like Kinsale struck her as bizarre, but then again, Maleficent had been extremely young and ostensibly friendless the last time they interacted. Joy's note was brief, as expected.

Zenovia,

You've probably heard by now that Maleficent is in a bit of a pickle. I have a theory I'd like to tell you about in person. I know you're busy, but this is very important. Can we meet soon?

Joy

Three letters! Three! All about Maleficent!

Well, Zenovia was most certainly going to find Maleficent, but Sara was madder than a hatter if she thought Zenovia would play along with her precious little world domination scheme. Zenovia was older and smarter than anyone in Sara's employ. If Sara thought she could just turn her nose up at an entire race of wicked fairies and say that the world would be better off without them, she deserved what was coming to her. Zenovia took up a bit of parchment and settled in to write exponentially more letters than she had in ages.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: **Thank you so much for your feedback! I'm glad to hear that you seem to enjoy where this story is going! Some things:

If you like my writing and regularly concern yourself with minutiae, I reworked the first chapter a bit. No significant changes, just some phrasing edits and more fluid descriptions.

If you like my writing and a canon-compliant Briar Rose/Aurora character piece sounds appealing to you, please feel free to read "The Trouble with Destiny."

If you like my writing and would like me to write something for a prompt, feel free to PM me! I'm a little bit ahead in Prisoner and I have a bizarre amount of free time right now.

I hope you're having a happy holiday season! Again, your readership and feedback are always very much appreciated!

* * *

**Chapter 11 – The Mail**

_Joy,_

_How is next Monday? I'm bringing Kinsale. I can't deal with her alone._

_Zenovia_

Joy chuckled. She thought she might rather enjoy the combination of Kinsale attempting to make pleasant conversation while Zenovia looked at her as though she wanted to rip out her larynx.

She folded the letter into a fun little shape, tossed it into the air, and shot a spell at it which shredded it. She then dissolved the pieces into streams of water. Her response was a simple "Fine" and she did not sign it. Dealing with Zenovia almost guaranteed that one's mail would be tracked.

Around the time she finished reading and destroying the last piece of her daily mail, she heard a knock upon her door, and she felt a small rush of fear. She'd been receiving an awful lot of unexpected visitors lately, all of them relatively harmless. Each time, she wondered when her caller would come bearing chains.

Joy was really not expecting to see Fauna again. Not that it was necessarily an unwelcome surprise, but she wasn't certain how to proceed. As such, she went to the door and answered it.

"Hello, Fauna," she said simply. It always struck Joy how small the Eastern Fairies were—Joy was not a particularly tall or imposing fairy, herself, but she positively dwarfed Fauna and her sisters.

Fauna's eyes widened in shock. "You remember me?"

"Even if I hadn't," said Joy with a smirk, "you giving me the eye all through your last visit would have given me pause. Won't you come in, O Mistress of Secrecy?"

"Thank you," said Fauna carefully as she followed Joy inside.

Joy offered her a seat and a cup of tea. "So!" she said. "What brings you here? It is rather dangerous, after all."

Fauna gazed nervously at her tea. "I think there's going to be a war."

Joy chuckled. "Do you really?"

Fauna looked up, eyes wide once more, not unlike a doe. "Yes, I do! Actually, I sort of assumed you would know…I mean, with Felicity coming here and making those threats, and—"

"Fauna, I am well aware that there is going to be a war," Joy interjected flatly. "If that's all you came to say, you're about fifty years too late."

"Oh," Fauna replied. "All right, then." She thought for a moment, and once again directed her speech to her untouched cup of tea. "Mistress Joy, you owe me nothing, and I owe you quite a lot… And really, I don't even know what I'm asking. It's that…" Fauna looked up again, eyes shimmering with tears. In so many ways, she was still that young girl on the beach. "There's going to be a war and I fear I'm on the wrong side."

Joy raised an eyebrow. "I see. And what do you intend to do about that?"

"I…I have no idea," said Fauna, her shoulders sagging. "I wondered if you might know…if there were anything I could do…to help?"

Joy took a leisurely sip of her own tea before she responded. "Suppose you're a spy?"

"I hadn't considered…" Fauna murmured, averting her eyes. "But of course you have no reason to believe me."

"For example, how did you get away without your sisters' knowledge?" Fauna was not a spy. Joy had never been more certain of anything in her life, simply because Fauna would make a terrible spy. Still, it was curious that Fauna had made it out from under the collective thumb of Flora and Merryweather.

"King Stefan sent a summons…it's…" Fauna bit her lip for a second before she continued to speak. "We went to visit Felicity in search of Maleficent and Princess Aurora. Flora thought that we could assemble a small force of allies to take Maleficent down for good and rescue the princess. Once we learned how serious it was that Maleficent had escaped the Chains of Avasina, our plans sort of…changed," she sighed. She took her first sip of tea before she continued.

"The King wanted an update on our intended mission—and of course I can't blame him! Not a moment goes by when I don't worry about her—where she is, if she's still alive, still with Maleficent, what Maleficent could possibly want…and they seem to have forgotten…well, nevermind that. The King also wanted one of us to serve as Counsel. Apparently he's going ahead with the merger with the Northern Kingdom, princess or no... I awoke a few days ago to find that my sisters had left me alone…I assume to have some sort of meeting they didn't want me to be a part of…and so I answered the summons and…I left."

"You didn't realize that Maleficent escaping her Chains was serious?" Joy asked, incredulous.

"Well, I…" Fauna looked up. "To be honest, I…I sort of wanted to ask you about that. I think…I wonder if perhaps the Chains worked. Maleficent is awfully clever, and Rose…I mean, the Princess…she's very kind-hearted. She could never bear the thought of anyone getting hurt, even someone who meant her harm. Do you…do you think it's possible that we've blown this out of proportion?"

Because, according to Joy's information, that was precisely what had happened, she was faced with a decision: should she tell Fauna the truth or perpetuate the lie?

It was possible that what she said made little difference. The lie had most likely already reached Sara by now—there was no stopping it, and if Fauna were by some off-chance actually a spy, revealing Maleficent's relative weakness would do her no favours. If Fauna was telling the truth, however, that meant that she had been holding onto this conviction for almost a year, despite what Joy could only imagine would be vehement protestation from everyone around her. If Fauna was telling the truth and Joy responded with a lie, it would only serve to isolate the emotionally fragile good fairy, and it might end up driving her back to the other side. A good fairy on their side, no matter how relatively powerless, could prove invaluable in the near future.

Joy took a deep breath. "Well, as they say, my dear," she said as she cast a binding spell upon Fauna's wings, then her feet, and then finally her wrists, "I would tell you the answer, but then I'd have to kill you."

Fauna gazed back at Joy with unsurprised resignation. Joy almost pitied her, really, and she rather disliked the sensation.

"As far as I'm aware, Maleficent convinced the princess to set her free with no access to her magical powers. She is highly intelligent and a very talented sorceress—perhaps near equal in power to Zenovia of the Mountainlands, but it's highly unlikely she could best all of the Mountainland Good Fairies in combat at once."

Joy led Fauna to another room—a study which she seldom used—and fortified her binding spells.

"Nothing personal, Fauna—one simply can't be too careful these days," said Joy. "A good fairy caught a wicked fairy up in the Northern Desert who had been masquerading as a human and had her dragged off to who-knows-where within the week." Were she being completely honest, she would have admitted that she thought a similar fate awaited her when Fauna knocked at her door.

"Oh, and the princess is just fine, to the best of my knowledge. She may run into some trouble soon enough, but if memory serves, she saved Maleficent's life. That's a debt Maleficent is likely to honour for as long as she's able."

Fauna nodded silently.

Messing with Fauna, Joy had already determined, was absolutely no fun. It was a bit like kicking a puppy, and so she did not dissemble any further. "As soon as I can get a hold of some Truth Serum and verify your story, I'll let you go—sound fair?"

Fauna brightened, "Truth Serum?"

"Fairy up in the Northern Desert brews it."

She smiled, "Oh, good. I thought there would be no way to prove myself…"

Joy returned her smile semi-genuinely and then left her to write to Makeda in the Northen Desert. Boring and slightly unsettling though this encounter had been, she was glad to hear that Fauna was probably telling the truth and that Joy might treat her as an ally. Still, she would be stupid to take a risk now. Something perhaps slightly more pressing than mere paranoia told Joy that the next time someone came knocking at her door, it wouldn't be to offer help.

* * *

_Kinsale,_

_Meet me at Joy's next Monday. If you can, tell Maleficent that Sara knows. Don't do it by mail—might be tracked._

_Zenovia_

Kinsale loved mail. She very much hated that she had to destroy the correspondences she had been receiving lately. She knew so many delightfully interesting people and she lamented the loss of valuable letters to and from them which might later contribute to her writings about them, particularly if she should survive the coming war. As such, she was very careful to commit every word to memory before she destroyed a letter. If she had time, once the letter was gone, she traced the words in the air that she might remember them better.

Unfortunately, she had no time at the moment. In addition to her letter from Zenovia, she had received one from Maleficent. Maleficent was in the mood to talk, and that sort of mood did not strike her very often. Kinsale wanted to use this window of opportunity to get to the bottom of whatever it was that Maleficent was doing, or, if she was not doing anything, what in Hell's name was the matter with her.

Kinsale checked to see that Aurora was sleeping soundly, then she transported herself to the castle in the Dragon Country. The door wasn't even locked.

Maleficent sat in one of the armchairs in her mother's ballroom, posture perfect, expression neutral, but still managing to look a complete mess. She wasn't wearing her horned headdress, and her black hair fell frizzy and tangled over her shoulders and down into her lap. Her complexion was pale and there were dark circles under her eyes. In a way, she looked like she had when she was young—lost and frightened. This was the way Maleficent had looked when Kinsale first met her.

"She's going to get hurt," Maleficent said to the opposing wall. "It's not going to be my fault."

"I know," Kinsale replied even though she hadn't known. She had only hoped, for the girl's sake. "How are you holding up?"

"Hmm," Maleficent murmured as she considered Kinsale's question. Kinsale took the liberty of sitting in the chair opposite hers. Maleficent did not seem to notice. "You know, when I was Chained, I entertained the possibility that I might die."

Kinsale's heart sank and she suddenly found it difficult to breathe.

"If nothing else," Maleficent continued, "my wounds would have killed me. But that was only for a day, at most. As soon as the princess showed up, I knew I could make her save me."

Kinsale saw what Aurora meant: Maleficent's eyes, normally alert, shining, and hyper-vigilant, were dull and empty. Maleficent had scarcely moved since Kinsale's arrival. She merely stared right past Kinsale and spoke monotonously, barely above a whisper.

"But now I've known it for…I don't know, weeks? It seems it's been forever. Joy told me about the misunderstanding with the Chains and I thought, 'I am going to die.' I can't see any alternative. I've decided I shan't foolishly try to defend myself against whatever it is Sara sends when she learns of my great escape. It's possible that I could defeat the Mountainland Fairies with some luck, but then she'd send the Force after me. What would be the point? There's no sense in dooming my entire race. I think perhaps it will be better if I go down easily. Sara will be proven very publicly wrong, and perhaps the Queen will find out about it. Perhaps Sara will meet her downfall."

Kinsale, who could bear no more of walking on eggshells, took a seat beside Maleficent, wrapped her arms around her, and lay her head on that rigid, bony shoulder. Maleficent flinched, but she did not pull away.

"In that case, I shall be glad to die," said Maleficent. From this close, Kinsale heard the hoarseness in her voice. "I trust you'll do your best to ensure that this scheme of mine comes to fruition."

Maleficent waited patiently for Kinsale's response, still staring blankly at nothing. At last, when a tear fell onto the fabric of Maleficent's black dress, Maleficent turned her head in an attempt to look at her. She slid one of her arms out of Kinsale's grasp and placed it awkwardly on Kinsale's back. "Why are you upset?" she asked, genuine confusion in her voice. "You're going to be all right now. Sara will want to use me as an example. If the example is a massive failure, she'll be brought to justice. No one else will have to die."

"Maleficent, I…" Kinsale whispered into her hair, but she could not find the words. They sat in silence for a few moments, Kinsale trying desperately to gather her thoughts, and Maleficent awkwardly attempting to comfort Kinsale on the matter of her own impending surrender.

"I can't do it, Maleficent," Kinsale said at last, eyes still steadfastly downcast. "I can't make plans that will result in your death. There's got to be another way."

"If you can find one, be my guest," Maleficent responded. "But I see no way around it. If I reveal my weakness, I die. If I don't, everyone dies. Until then, I sit here like a rat trapped in a hole, hiding, endangering my friends, and making no contribution." She sighed and adjusted so that she could look Kinsale in the eyes. Kinsale could hardly bear the sight. "There's no one else in this world I could possibly trust with this task, Kinsale." She averted her eyes, and her lips curled up into a small, mirthless smile. "Or any task besides, it seems. I expect she is well?"

There was something very selfish which Kinsale found particularly heartbreaking about Maleficent's question. She knew that this was not the time to bring it up, but there might never be another. "I know I should find it flattering—an honour, even—that you trust me the way you do…and of course you have no reason to believe that I can't take care of myself…" wistfully, she traced a finger down the sharp line of Maleficent's face, "but I admit I'll always wonder how it must feel to be so completely protected by someone like you."

Maleficent frowned, perplexed. "I imagine it would be terrifying," she said earnestly.

Kinsale smiled sadly. "Aurora is well. I'm glad to hear that you didn't mean her any harm. It was what I wanted to believe, and it's what she wants to believe, as well. I don't think she'll be too happy to hear that you plan to sacrifice yourself."

Maleficent's expression abruptly turned dark. "I don't suppose you're planning to tell her. She is very kind-hearted—she saved me once before when she had no reason to do so. If she were to try such a thing again, I would not be able to return the favour."

"So that's it?" Kinsale asked, genuinely surprised. "Aren't you even going to see her again?"

Maleficent let out something like a strangled chuckle. "Don't you think I've done enough damage there?" she asked, and she seemed perhaps a bit less indifferent on the matter than she would ever concede. "I went to the trouble of frightening her away so that she wouldn't want to see me again."

Kinsale shook her head. "She misses you terribly." _And she isn't the only one_.

Maleficent's eyes flickered up, and for an instant, Kinsale saw in them a spark of the real Maleficent, the one who hadn't resigned herself to death. "In spite of everything?"

"In spite of everything," Kinsale nodded.

Kinsale could clearly see and hear Maleficent swallow. "All the more reason I shouldn't see her," Maleficent replied firmly. "I might change my mind."

"I suppose there's nothing else I can say that would do the trick," Kinsale replied. It wasn't really a question, and Maleficent knew it. She didn't respond.

"Well," said Kinsale as she stood, "I won't lie to you: I hope you do change your mind." She smoothed the hair from Maleficent's face. "I'm going to meet with Joy and Zenovia on Monday next. I'll tell you what we discuss, but it's likely that Zenovia is being tracked, so it wouldn't be safe for you to come. She told me to let you know that Sara has heard about you."

Something very subtle changed in Maleficent's face. Kinsale could not quite pinpoint what it was, but it seemed somehow that the last remaining flicker of hope burning in her eyes had been extinguished with Kinsale's words. "Please tell Joy and Zenovia I send my regards."

Kinsale looked away until she had a handle on the tears stinging in her eyes, then regarded Maleficent once more. "I haven't given up, Maleficent."

Maleficent smiled warmly, "And you envy my protection."

Kinsale touched Maleficent's face once more, then turned to depart.

"Kinsale?"

Kinsale stopped, but she did not turn around or respond, for she had already begun to weep.

"Are there any dragons left in the world?"

Kinsale swallowed. "Only in the Mountainlands, I think. Why?"

"The young dragon hidden in the caves nearby—I…could you see to it that he finds his kin, after all of this is over?"

Kinsale covered her mouth to stifle another sob. She did not respond. Maleficent knew what her response would be, anyway.

* * *

Briar Rose had found staying with Mistress Kinsale to be an immensely refreshing experience.

First of all, there was no question as to whether it was safe to go outside. Aurora did not find the high stone walls to be confining in the least. She saw the sky, she saw the grass, the flowers, the small pond which was home to large, colourful fish, and she saw the walls as her protectors. She was safe and permitted to be out of doors.

Second, Kinsale was a much gentler and less demanding teacher than Maleficent. Rose still had the nagging sensation that her skills would be ineffectual under any sort of duress, but at least now she had some skills to speak of. Kinsale was never threatening, she was endlessly patient, and she did not seem to harbor any dark secrets. Everything about her life was always open for discussion. Under Kinsale's gentle instruction, Rose's magical ability positively flourished. She felt she had learned more in the past few weeks than she had in her months of solitude.

Kinsale had also offered to help her with her reading, and this, too, became monumentally more enjoyable under Kinsale's tutelage. Rose's absolute favourite method of practice was to look at the words of a book while Kinsale told her the story aloud, usually almost exactly as it was written on the page. This was the way she had reached the end of the tale of Mistress Acacia.

"And because Sara had been given permission to destroy Mistress Cordelia, the Fairy Queen Titania did not bother to send her Counsel down to Earth to look into the matter of Cordelia's daughter. As it happened, Mistress Joy was dealing with her own personal tragedy at that time. If she hadn't been preoccupied, she would have—"

"Her own personal tragedy?" Rose had interrupted.

"She had a very complicated relationship with Terra the Good Fairy at that time—they had bitter fights whenever they tried to speak to one another," Kinsale explained.

"That reminds me—in the Biography of Mistress Joy, you mentioned how miserable Terra was after Joy left with her father. I suppose I don't quite understand their relationship."

Kinsale looked vaguely troubled, "That's a bit of a long story. Shall we finish Acacia and then delve into Joy and Terra next time?"

Rose nodded, "All right."

So perhaps Kinsale was not quite an open book. There were two topics on which she was mysteriously silent: the missing piece of Mistress Joy's story and something about the way that she and Maleficent had met. Rose supposed that no harm could come of confronting her about these things—she had merely been surprised to learn that Kinsale did indeed have a secret or two.

Rose was still immensely conflicted on the subject of Maleficent. Even though her most recent memory of Maleficent was still freshly terrifying, it was no longer thus because of Maleficent's role in it. Rose knew, not only because she had been told, but because she felt it in every fibre of her being…she knew that there was going to be a war. There was almost no chance that she would escape this situation without running into some kind of danger. Initially, she had wanted to learn magic so that she could defend herself against such danger; however, she had so far been afforded—albeit involuntarily—two opportunities to test her new skills: once by a wicked fairy who, while intimidating, probably didn't actually intend to harm her, and the other time by a good fairy around her own height, which implied that Rose's limited magical ability might have been enough to suffice. Both times, Rose had completely frozen in fear.

In a strange way, Maleficent had merely pointed out a huge problem that Rose needed to fix: she could not perform magic when it would actually do her any good.

As if Rose's thoughts didn't offer her enough fodder for vexation, Rose could not help but miss Maleficent desperately. She hadn't even seen Maleficent much in the last few months she spent in Maleficent's childhood home, and yet she had always felt her presence everywhere. She had felt it when Maleficent left her books to read and food to eat, and when Maleficent had checked in on her to find her awake, she had known that Maleficent checked in on her when she was asleep, too. Rose had never quite realized the way her life revolved around Maleficent until her presence was no longer a viable option, and this left Rose feeling just slightly empty inside.

On the bright side, Kinsale was (to say the least) much chattier than Maleficent, and she seemed just as starved for companionship as Rose was. As such, Rose found herself with very little time for sitting and thinking, something of which she had had an excess in Maleficent's home. This, too, was a welcome respite. Rose's thoughts had a habit of getting away from her, and it was rather nice not to think too deeply about the things that troubled her at the moment. She supposed she'd have to think about them eventually, but she was admittedly avoiding this for as long as possible.

Kinsale returned home that night looking decidedly melancholy. Rose realized with a sort of bizarre eagerness that there would be no harm in asking her what was troubling her. Rose conjured up two cups of tea (the only kind she knew how to make was plain old black tea, though she sometimes managed to summon a sugar cube) and went downstairs to meet Kinsale at the door.

Kinsale gazed at her as though she had seen a ghost, then abruptly wiped her expression clean of all of her sadness and smiled. "Good evening, Aurora. Oh, you made tea? How thoughtful!"

Rose had never bothered to tell Kinsale that she didn't feel like Aurora was her name. She couldn't pinpoint why exactly, but she thought that perhaps she simply wanted to be someone else for a little while. "Where have you been today?" she asked conversationally.

"Oh, here and there," said Kinsale. She took a sip of her tea. Rose followed suit and nearly choked—it was so bitter! Kinsale's expression did not even change as she continued to drink the stuff. "I ordered a book you might like—it's an account of Cordelia's downfall by a good fairy named Esther."

Rose smiled, "That does sound interesting."

"Mistress Joy says it's 'good fairy drivel,' but I think it's useful to read a variety of perspectives."

_Good fairy drivel_. Rose felt once more the keen sensation of missing Maleficent, yet she was loath to ask Kinsale about her. "I meant to nag you about finishing Mistress Joy's story."

Kinsale laughed, the sound a bit strained. "Ah, yes. You know, I was almost Chained for publishing that book."

"Really?" Rose gasped. "Why?"

Kinsale nodded, "When I wrote it, Joy was still Queen's Counsel. I suppose that's part of it. I had to edit it six times before the Force was satisfied."

"What did you have to edit, exactly?" Rose prodded, again feeling that she was missing a huge part of the puzzle.

"Her relationship with Terra," Kinsale responded, a hint of hesitation still lingering in her voice. "I know it must seem tame to you, reading it now, but at the time, it didn't matter how much I left out because everyone knew."

"Knew _what?_" Rose cried, throwing her arms out in frustration. Kinsale looked at her, startled.

"That they were lovers," she replied softly. She seemed almost surprised, as though she thought Rose ought to have guessed.

"They were…" Rose echoed, trying to wrap her head around the information. The idea, that Joy and her controversial female friend, the good fairy Terra, had been lovers struck Rose in a way she could not quite comprehend. The notion had never occurred to her before, that two women could be lovers, and yet now that Kinsale said it, she didn't know why it was so unfathomable. It certainly made Joy's story fall together more clearly. Joy's relationship with Terra had seemed so strangely intense to Rose—it didn't really make sense between platonic friends. Joy ran away with her father and a band of male wicked fairies without telling Terra, Terra was devastated…Joy gave the go ahead for Cordelia's damnation, but not Acacia's, because she was dealing with her complicated relationship with Terra…

They were lovers.

"It's really a pity that I wasn't allowed to write it the way that it happened. They had such different pasts, such different ideas about life and love, family, magic…everything, really. But at the same time, they completed each other in a strange way. It was quite beautiful. And they found peace in the end, before Terra was put to death."

"Put to death?" Rose's eyes snapped up to meet Kinsale's, which were carefully studying her reaction.

"Terra spoke in favour of Acacia in the trial," Kinsale replied. "It was a last-minute decision, made as a sort of plea to Joy that she was trying to understand, to reach her. Almost everyone who spoke in favour of Acacia was put to death when the decision was reached."

Rose felt tears welling in her eyes, and she could not find words to respond.

"It's often said that wicked fairies are incapable of understanding love, at least in the way that good fairies and humans do," Kinsale continued, and Rose suddenly saw every single one of those three hundred and ninety-four years in her eyes. "I don't think that's true. I just…I think it takes us a little longer. And usually we aren't afforded that kind of time."

Rose had become conditioned not to reach out and touch people without warning, but she realized while she was fighting the urge that Kinsale would not mind. She reached out and squeezed Kinsale's arm. Kinsale smiled and covered Rose's hand with her own.

"May I ask you something else?"

Kinsale nodded, "Of course."

"What happened when you and Maleficent met?"

Kinsale regarded her uncertainly, "Perhaps another time? I fear I keep feeding you surprising information."

Rose wanted very much to agree to wait. For one thing, every time she heard or saw or felt something that reminded her of Maleficent, she missed her former protector terribly. For another, she had a strange feeling that she knew the answer to the question she had posed, and she wasn't entirely certain that she was ready to hear it aloud, for reasons which were a bit murky to her and which she did not particularly want to examine too closely just yet.

"Another time," she agreed.

In response, Kinsale reached out and cupped Rose's face in her hands, then leaned forward and kissed her forehead before rising to clear the tea. "Oh, I'm sorry…you haven't even started yours."

Rose gave an exasperated sigh, but she could physically feel the conversation lighten, "How could you even drink that? It was awful!"

Kinsale chuckled, "It wasn't that bad."

"So you admit it was bad," Rose countered, raising one eyebrow.

Kinsale gave her a strange look, somehow amused and melancholy at the same time. "In these desperate times, I think it might be more beneficial to work on your defensive magic than on your tea-making skills. I appreciated the _thought_."

Rose sighed, defeated. "You seemed troubled when you arrived," she said. "Is something the matter?"

"Oh, you know, the usual," she said, waving the teacups away. "War brewing and all. I'm going to meet with Mistresses Joy and Zenovia on Monday to hear their theories about how Mistress Sara will proceed."

"How is that?"

The troubled look returned to Kinsale's eyes. "For years, she seems to have been moving slowly, gathering resources. It's picked up a bit, though, which means she's planning something. It's likely she'll begin with her inquisition technique, going door to door and demanding information. If we can rally the likely targets before Sara gets to them, we'll throw her off, and as an added bonus, we'll have a larger force than we did before. That's my job: to find every wicked fairy I can and bring them here."

Aurora frowned. "How are you going to do that?"

"Oh, that's the fun part," Kinsale said with a mischievous smile which did not quite reach her eyes. "We're going to throw a party!"

* * *

_Mistress Sara,_

_I believe your letter was delivered in error. You seem to have mistaken me for one of your weak-minded lackeys. There's no need for a formal apology; I shall use it for fire kindling in my next Satanic ritual._

_Warmest regards,_

_Mistress Zenovia_

Sara smiled to herself as she ripped the letter into tiny pieces, envisioning Zenovia's limbs, instead. She reached into mid-air with her left hand and rang an invisible bell. One of her servants appeared instantly.

"Bring Zalia to me, please." The servant nodded and disappeared. Not a few seconds later, she reappeared with the youngest of the Desert Land Good Fairies in tow.

"Good afternoon, Zalia," said Sara.

Zalia curtseyed. "Good afternoon, Your Excellency." She had the same vibrant green eyes which likened her to the rest of her family, but Zalia was a bit less grounded than her older sisters, and she sometimes had a bit of a crazed look about her.

"Thank you very much for your information regarding the whereabouts of the Eastern Princess. Would you mind doing me a favour?"

"Of course not, Your Excellency," Zalia replied, curtseying again.

"Go to Mistress Felicity in the Hill Kingdom and retrieve the Eastern Good Fairies. I'm given to understand that they have taken up residence there. Take them to Mistress Kinsale's home on Monday morning and wait for her to leave—she'll be on her way to a meeting. Do you have that?"

Nod, curtsey.

"She has a very good security system, but, like all wicked fairy inventions, it is only designed to protect her. If she isn't home to answer the alarm, you can get over the wall, disable the forcefield, and break the door locks if necessary, all with little difficulty. Your objective is to retrieve the Princess Aurora alive and in one piece, but it's of no interest to me what else you choose to do while you're there."

"Take these," she said, conjuring a set of heavy chains and directing them into Zalia's hands. "The princess has been in the company of at least two powerful wicked fairies, and you mentioned that they seemed to treat her with some superficial kindness—it's possible she won't understand that you mean to help her and will put up a fight. Even if she appears to go with you willingly, keep her in these, just in case. One can never be too cautious. Understood?"

Nod, curtsey.

"Excellent," Sara smiled. "Finally, you are to leave this note for Mistress Kinsale to find. Send word to me when the princess has been safely returned to the Eastern Kingdom. If you are successful, I assure you that you will be handsomely rewarded."

Nod. "Yes, Your Excellency." Curtsey. "Thank you, Your Excellency."

"You're dismissed," Sara said by way of response.

Fortunately, Sara had been prepared for Zenovia's non-cooperation. One could never rely on wicked fairies for anything, and Zenovia was the only wicked fairy Maleficent might trust with whom Sara had a working relationship. Maleficent was a difficult fairy to lure into a trap, and Sara respected that. Desperate times called for desperate measures.

Sara was aware of Maleficent's friendship with Kinsale, who was by all accounts a much more agreeable wicked fairy than either Maleficent or Zenovia. Thus, while Zalia's complaint regarding Kinsale's recent behavior came as a bit of a surprise, Kinsale could not have chosen a more opportune time to be disagreeable. Sara could return the princess to her kingdom, allow Zalia her revenge against Kinsale, frighten Kinsale and her precious little alarm system, and lure Maleficent into a very public confrontation—all in one fell swoop!

When Zalia and the Eastern Good Fairies retrieved Princess Aurora, she would leave the following note behind:

_Please inform Maleficent that if she wants her pretty plaything back, she'll have to ask Mother. If she doesn't know where to find me, here's a clue._

She had forced Maleficent's mother, Adara, to sign the letter this morning, just in case Zenovia decided not to pay her former pupil a persuasive visit.

Adara came from a long line of very powerful fairies, some of whom were rumoured to be shapeshifters. She was a skilled sorceress and an incredible fighter particularly because she was rash and unpredictable, renowned for being creative in the cruelest of ways. She mated with a man about a hundred and fifty years ago and had three daughters, all of whom she managed not to kill during their infancy. Those children must have led a terrifying existence, knowing full well that their mother would come after them when they reached maturity.

None of the literature on the family had any information on what happened when the children were in their teens, only that the two oldest children were dead, the youngest one was alive, and Adara disappeared without a trace.

That is to say, she disappeared until a few months ago when, Sara had it on first-hand authority, it turned out she had been masquerading as a human of all things for over a century. Adara now resided in Sara's dungeon. A rather impressive first, if she did say so, in her intended collection of formerly powerful evil-doers.

Regardless of how much Maleficent cared about what happened to the Eastern Princess, Sara had little doubt that Maleficent despised her mother if her childhood was anything like what Sara envisioned. Now that Maleficent had become so calamitously powerful, she would doubtless be positively famished for revenge. She would come after Adara, and when she did, she would meet her demise one way or another. No mere wicked sprite would overpower Sara.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N:** Thank you to whoever (there are three staff people…) added this story and ETB to "Romance Heaven"!

Okay, I've been staring at this chapter forever, so I think it's time to open it up for feedback. I was going to post one big long chapter of doom that had all of this backstory and also more plot development, but I felt it wasn't as cohesive that way. Let me know what you think—do you think the backstory provides necessary context? Is it interesting to read? Does it slow the pacing of the overall story? Do you care? (I hope you care.) As always, your readership and feedback are much appreciated!

**WARNING:** This chapter contains descriptions of child abuse/neglect and somewhat descriptive violence. Please exercise caution in reading. I don't think it warrants a rating change, but please let me know if I'm mistaken.

* * *

**Chapter 12 – The Beginning**

For the past several days, Kinsale and Briar Rose had spent their mornings practicing magic and their afternoons composing invitations to every wicked fairy Kinsale had ever known or heard of. Kinsale had emphasized that Rose was in no way obligated to help, but Rose could think of no other way she would rather spend her time. Perhaps Mistress Sara of the Kingdom by the Sea kept extensive records of every fairy living on Earth, but Kinsale's records came in the form of highly entertaining personal anecdotes, and she was more than happy to share her stories with a captivated audience.

"Oh, I almost forgot my brothers. Here's two for you," she handed two cards with the names of her youngest brothers to Rose.

"Kinsale?"

"Yes, dear."

"Do you mind if I ask what your childhood was like?" Fresh in Rose's mind was, of course, another wicked fairy's reaction to such questions.

Kinsale chuckled, "Do I mind chattering on about anything? What is it you'd like to know?"

"What was your family like?"

"Well, let's see…" said Kinsale as she finished her brothers' invitations and added them to the pile. "I don't know much about my father except that he had a strange fondness for human weaponry. He was an excellent marksman, of all things.

"My mother's name was Dalia. We had an interesting relationship because I was her only daughter, but generally speaking, she was much stricter with my brothers than with me. I don't think we had it nearly as bad as most wicked fairies."

"How do you mean, bad?"

"Oh, forgive me," said Kinsale. "Wicked fairy parents are quite well-known for inflicting rather harsh punishments upon their children when they misbehave. Zenovia's mother—she's the one from the Mountainlands—cursed her children and forced them to find a way to break the curses, themselves, for example. My mother only ever made us clean the house without magic and the like."

Rose carefully avoided asking the question she wanted to and refocused her attentions on Kinsale's past. "What are your brothers like?"

Kinsale shrugged, "They're male fairies, but my mother raised them to be quite decorous. Their names are Nicodemus, Velan, Inopius, and Merick. Nicodemus is a year older than I am—I traveled with him when he reached maturity to avoid a conflict with my mother. Velan is a year younger than I. Inopius and Merick are twelve and fourteen years younger than I am—same father, though. He left and then came back. I don't know them very well."

"Maleficent told me she never knew her father."

"Male fairies are curious. They seldom want anything to do with women who don't want to mother their children."

"What about Maleficent's mother?" Rose dared to ask—she felt she had wanted to know anything about Maleficent's family for ages.

Kinsale frowned slightly and handed Rose a few more cards. "She doesn't like to talk about her mother very much," she said quietly and then thought for a moment before responding. "Adara was a volatile woman," said Kinsale at last. "As I understand it, she sometimes punished her children for no reason at all, and her punishments were very cruel."

"Cruel?" Rose echoed, feeling very queasy.

"Maleficent once told me she spent weeks at a time chained to the walls of her bedroom. When she was a little girl, she would scream and cry, but the noise irritated Adara and she cast a Silencing Charm on her and then forgot about her for much longer."

_A visitor?_

Rose was suddenly stricken quite painfully by the image of Maleficent in chains, eyes shining with desperation and glittering in alarm when Rose tried to reach out and touch her. She clutched her hand to her heart and could think of nothing to say.

"Kinsale?" she croaked after a moment.

"Yes?"

"When you came of age, what happened?"

"Oh," Kinsale's brow furrowed again, but she continued to write. Rose's hands had grown far too shaky to be helpful. "Like many fairies with older brothers, I traveled with Nicodemus when he left home until I found a place of my own. I moved back here after my mother died, but she was killed in a rather fiery war. This house is my own creation."

"I'm sorry," Rose murmured.

"Oh, there's no need to be, dear—that was over two centuries ago," Kinsale replied evenly.

Rose twisted her hands for a moment, "Do you mind if I ask you another Maleficent-related question?"

Kinsale chuckled, "Of course not. Getting anything out of her is like pulling teeth."

Rose bit her lip as she considered the last time she had tried to ask Maleficent about her family. "You told me that it's common for wicked fairy mothers to murder their children…and I remember Maleficent saying something about conflicts between mothers and daughters over claim to the land…I asked her what happened when she and her sisters reached maturity, and she said something like 'there was a conflict before we matured.' And she didn't seem to want to say anything else, so I didn't press her."

Kinsale was staring down at an invitation, but she had stopped writing, "And you want to know about the conflict," she said.

"Yes."

Kinsale stared at the half-written note for another moment, then put down her quill and turned to face Rose. "Honestly, the only person who knows exactly what happened that night is Maleficent. It would be better if you asked her, but…well…" she averted her eyes for a moment, and when they returned, they once again held that world-weary sadness from a few days ago. "I'll tell you what I know, anyway."

* * *

All throughout her brief childhood, as soon as she had been old enough to know what it was to feel fear, Maleficent had studied and practiced ceaselessly. She had known two things: that her days were numbered and that there was no way of knowing what that number was. Whenever that fateful day arrived when Adara decided that her children were a threat to her, Maleficent wanted to be certain that she had ensured her own best chance of survival.

In spite of the ever-present terror in her heart, Maleficent had a few pleasant memories from her childhood, namely, her sisters.

Maleficent's oldest sister, Seraphina, had been breathtakingly lovely. At sixteen she'd had a curvaceous figure and a rosy-cheeked complexion. Her hair, like Adara's, was a warm, dark brown-black, and her eyes almost seemed to burn like embers. She had a temper to match—Seraphina was a bully and loved to play tricks, and she was always ready to challenge her youngest sister to a fight, magical or otherwise.

Her middle sister, Acacia, had been a sensitive child. At fourteen and a half, she had been small in stature, build, and presentation. Her hair and skin were a cool bluish-green, and her eyes were a light, stormy grey. Acacia did not share her mother and sister's affinity or talent for fire magic, and in general, she much preferred the study of magic over its practical applications.

They never spoke of it, nor did they express it—they had no way of knowing how—yet Maleficent believed she had loved both of her sisters, and she had always assumed that they loved her in much the same ineffable manner. If not, then at the very least they were bonded to one another by the silent knowledge of their impending doom.

One afternoon in April, a few days after Seraphina's sixteenth birthday, a great thunderstorm had broken out in the Dragon Country. Maleficent, who had always had a particular fondness for thunderstorms, had climbed up onto the roof to enjoy it. Under normal circumstances, it was dangerous to go outside—one must always be prepared to do battle with human soldiers at the very least. Yet, when it rained like this, Maleficent was usually the only person who dared to venture outside, and she relished feeling truly alone, even for a few moments.

Maleficent had been barely thirteen at the time. She had been gangly and awkward, mostly. Her hair, a shock of black against her pale green skin, had set her just slightly uncomfortably apart from the rest of her family, and she had kept it short in an attempt to compensate. Her arms and legs always looked to her as though someone had pulled at the bones until they stretched beyond their limits—a result of her magic having developed further than her physical age—and she hadn't known very well how to handle herself in any respect.

On this particular afternoon, Maleficent ran a hand through her short hair, enjoying the feeling of the wetness from the rain as she twirled the fingers of her unoccupied hand, trying out a little trick she had read about wherein she might catch a bolt of lightning and direct it at her will. She was feeling a bit frustrated at her inability to master the trick, for magic usually came so easily to her.

She didn't realize until years later that this wasn't a storm of natural causes.

"Daughters!" Adara's voice reverberated off of the mountains, not unlike thunder, and Maleficent's stomach twisted.

Adara was not a stable woman, to say the least. She was never precisely warm or pleasant to her children; at best, she left them well enough alone. On occasion, she lined them up in the ballroom to detail their most recent flaws and demerits and to dole out punishment as she saw fit.

Seraphina's demerits were always many and varied—she cursed, she talked back, she snuck out at night, she picked fights with her sisters—and her punishments were frequently the direst: for example, she must write her wrongdoings on the walls with her blood, then scrub the blood away without using any magic.

Adara's problem with Acacia was that she was too sensitive and, as if to drive home Adara's point, Acacia would always begin to cry out of fear. Adara would accuse her of crying in an attempt to garner sympathy and she would enchant Acacia so that she could not stop crying until she flooded half the house with her tears.

Maleficent was usually too studious, or her room was too tidy, and her punishment was almost invariably to be chained to the wall in her room for a week or two. When she was a little girl, she had cried and screamed for someone to help her, but this sometimes irritated Adara so much that she came to Maleficent's room only to cast a silencing charm on her.

Maleficent had eventually determined that her sentence wasn't fixed in any way; Adara came in to release her when she remembered that she had chained her up. As such, she quickly realized that it was most beneficial for her not to cry or scream. If Adara walked by after a week or so and heard someone moving about, she came in and let Maleficent out of her chains. If Maleficent was Silenced and her sisters were occupied with their own punishments, it sometimes took Adara a month or more to remember.

As Maleficent descended the stairs into the ballroom, she thought through the list of possible enchantments she had catalogued. She had not yet determined what enchantment Adara used upon her chains so that she could not get out of them, and she kept a running list of potential charms in her head to try out every time she was so imprisoned.

Adara stood in the center of the room, seeming to radiate electricity much like the storm outside. Maleficent took her place next to her sisters and bowed her head, awaiting the inevitable.

"Seraphina," said Adara.

"Yes, Ma'am," Seraphina murmured, robbed of her usual bravado.

"How old are you?"

"I just turned sixteen, Ma'am."

Adara approached her slowly, and Maleficent and Acacia dared to peek. "In a few years, you'll be an adult, Seraphina. Do you know what that means?"

"I'll have to find a new place to live?"

"You'll have to find a new place to live," Adara repeated darkly. Maleficent shivered. "Hmm, but don't you like it here in the Dragon Country?"

"Well, yes, but—"

"But? But what? Why can't you stay here?"

Seraphina began to babble, "Because I'll be an adult, and you live here, and I'll have to—"

"Silence!" Adara thundered. "What kind of nonsense is that?"

Seraphina didn't respond.

"If there is one thing I've taught you, Daughter, it is not this. If you want something and someone else has it, what do you do? Find something else to want?"

Seraphina was silent.

"_Answer me!_ What do you do?"

"I—you—"

Adara towered over Seraphina, her staff at her daughter's throat. "What…do…you…do?"

"Take it," Seraphina choked.

"That's my girl," Adara replied.

Seraphina screamed—a dreadful, gurgling noise—and Acacia and Maleficent whipped their heads around to see what had happened. Adara had fired a spell at Seraphina's throat, throwing her back against the opposing wall where she crumpled into a heap upon the floor. Adara approached quickly, still wielding her staff.

"Get up," she said coldly.

Seraphina wheezed.

"Get up and fight me."

"I—I don't—"

"Get up and fight me, weakling!" Adara screeched and Seraphina scrambled to her feet, arms crossed in front of her in a feeble defense.

"I don't want to fight you, Mother," Seraphina whispered. Blood was oozing from a wound in her throat—Maleficent didn't know how she could talk at all.

"You fight with your sisters. Now you'll fight me."

"But—I—"

"Go on. I'll let you have the first shot."

"Please," Seraphina breathed.

"Do it!" Adara cried. "Fight me or die a coward!"

Seraphina, tears streaming down her face and blood streaming down her body, was now visibly shaking. She put her hands together and attempted a spell. Maleficent had no idea what it was—perhaps it wasn't anything at all; perhaps it didn't form fully enough to be anything. She pushed the ball of ill-formed magic weakly in Adara's direction. Adara growled, threw the ball of magic aside, and slashed Seraphina across the body with her staff. Seraphina let out another gurgling shriek as she fell to the floor, now bleeding profusely from the middle of her body. She began to convulse.

Adara turned on her heel to face Acacia, who was already weeping, and this distracted Maleficent so that she turned away from the sight of her dying sister.

"Acacia," said Adara almost sweetly.

"P-please d-don't k-kill m-me!" Acacia managed as she began to hyperventilate. "I-I won't b-be any t-t-trouble! P-p-please!"

Adara's lip curled as she approached, leaving the convulsing body of Seraphina behind her. "No, you never were any trouble, were you?" she murmured, then brandished her staff. "You disgust me!"

"Please!" Maleficent cried.

"Silence!" Adara replied, still looming over Acacia. "I'll get to you!"

"Stop! Don't hurt her!" Maleficent cried once more. She could not be silent. She ran forward in an attempt to get Acacia away from Adara, but Adara threw her back with a spell.

"I told you to be silent, Maleficent!" said Adara.

"P-please, please…" Acacia kept saying over and over. Maleficent pushed herself up into a sitting position and glanced over to Seraphina, whose body now lay still in a pool of blood. Maleficent began to cry and she tried to crawl over to her sister's body, but she had already attracted her mother's attention.

"None of that!" Adara shrieked, throwing another spell at Maleficent which knocked her into the opposing corner. "She died a coward. No one mourns a coward."

Maleficent gazed at the ceiling and realized she could not blink. Adara had cast a binding spell on Maleficent, but Maleficent knew countless ways to escape. She broke the charm instantly and scrambled onto her knees.

"..please, please, p-please…"

"Oh, please what?" Adara turned her attention back to Acacia. "Please don't kill you? Why shouldn't I? Are you going to fight me?"

"I-I d-don't want to f-f-fight you, M-mother…"

Adara snarled. "Then meet your fate with some dignity, you sniveling child!" She gave Acacia a shove. Acacia fell to her knees and continued to plead nonsensically for her life.

"No, no, no, please, don't!" Maleficent, too, was crying. Adara turned to look at her, smiled, then turned back to Acacia. She circled her a couple of times like a bird of prey, then finally stopped behind her. She pulled Acacia back against her by the hair and drew her staff slowly across her daughter's throat.

Over a century later, Maleficent was still quite certain that Acacia's scream would never leave her thoughts.

At the time, however, instead of sending her into a fresh wave of senseless misery, Acacia's scream brought Maleficent firmly into the present. Maleficent was filled with a burning desire to survive, or at the very least, to die knowing that she had done everything in her power.

"I suppose I needn't have killed them," Adara said quietly, suddenly calm as she watched Maleficent rise on shaky legs. Vaguely, she heard a low, dull rumble of thunder from outside. "You've always been the true threat, haven't you?"

"I suppose so," Maleficent replied.

"Why? Why do you want to take my power away from me?"

Maleficent bit back her tears, and with every fibre of her being, she resisted speaking the words she desperately wanted to. _I don't. I don't want to fight you, Mother. _Mother didn't understand. Mother would never understand.

She had known for what seemed like forever that this day would come. She had known that she must fight to the death against her own mother. She must try to win, and trying to win meant trying to kill Adara.

So, she said what she knew she must. "Because that's what you raised me to want."

Adara raised her staff. "So it is."

The battle was brutal. Maleficent fired every vicious spell she knew as fast as they came to mind. She ducked behind furniture when her magic grew weary, but she only ever had a few seconds before Adara found where she was hiding and blasted her shelter to pieces. After an hour or more, all the furniture in the ballroom lay in piles of ash. Maleficent, who was bleeding from the neck and one of her arms, and who could hardly stand to walk on her right leg, fired a spell which came out too weak, and she had nothing to duck behind. Adara smirked, knowing she had won at last, and she prepared to fire the spell that would finish Maleficent off.

Maleficent could barely move. She glanced around frantically and dragged the nearest thing she could find on top of herself, willing her magic to recharge faster.

Adara fired the spell and Maleficent watched in horror as she realized that what she had been using as a shield was the body of Seraphina. Adara's spell ripped it to shreds.

Fueled by terror and fury, Maleficent hopped to her feet, the pain in her leg now irrelevant to her. She knew she'd caught Adara by surprise and took advantage of it. She fired a spell she had never been able to try before, and Adara's staff was wrested from her grasp.

Maleficent caught the staff, fired one of the hundreds of binding spells she had memorized, and limped toward Adara, aiming the staff at her throat.

Adara was nearly as bloodied and bruised as Maleficent was. She stared up at Maleficent, unable to move, eyes wide in shock.

"Leave," Maleficent rasped, trying very hard to assemble her facial expression into something other than abject terror. "Leave this land forever. I never want to see your face again. If I do, I'll kill you."

Maleficent only knew one transportation spell. It would only get Adara as far as the Valley Kingdom, but it would do the trick. She removed the binding spell and cast Adara out of what, she supposed, was now rightfully her home. Shortly thereafter, she collapsed upon the ground next to what remained of her older sisters and waited for death.

* * *

"As I mentioned," said Kinsale, "Adara was prone to punish her children for very little reason. One day, when the eldest, Seraphina, was sixteen, putting Maleficent at just barely thirteen, Adara called her children together and, instead of doling out her usual punishments, challenged Seraphina to a duel. When Seraphina couldn't fight, Adara slit her throat. The middle sister, Acacia…" Kinsale paused for a moment, "…begged for mercy, but Adara slit her throat, as well."

She took a deep breath. "Maleficent, however, knew from a very young age that Adara's attack would come and prepared ceaselessly for it. After having just witnessed the brutal murder of her sisters, she fought her mother and won."

Rose wasn't certain when she had begun to cry. She only barely noticed the tears trailing down her cheeks. Before long, her body began to contract with the force of wracking sobs which surprised her, and she wrapped her arms about herself in an attempt to physically pull herself together. She thought of Maleficent as impossibly strong, a force to be reckoned with, immovable, untouchable…the thought of Maleficent in chains, the way Rose had first seen her, always made her very uncomfortable, but even at that time, injured, chained, and stripped of her magic, Maleficent had somehow managed to exude power, not to mention gain control of the situation.

To imagine a young Maleficent, one who was simply not yet old enough to be her magnificent self, was in itself nearly impossible. To imagine such a creature knowing fear and torment every day of her life, knowing that one day her own mother would try to murder her, knowing that she must train herself to fight back…to imagine her sitting alone in silence for weeks on end, chained to the wall of the bedroom where Rose had once accidentally fallen asleep…this pained her in a way she hadn't thought possible.

Rose suddenly felt Kinsale gently nudging her to move over. Kinsale sat next to her and embraced her warmly, and Rose collapsed into her, her sobs only doubling. She could not remember the last time someone had held her when she cried.

She had been so stupid to think she could somehow draw Maleficent out of her shell. All the gentle questions, the careful observation to make sure she wasn't pushing too far, it had been childishly simplistic. Maleficent had over a century of misery under her belt, and she made it quite clear that she had come to believe that the world held nothing more for her.

And who was Rose to tell her differently? Rose hadn't even a fraction of Maleficent's experience from which to speak, nor did she have evidence to the contrary. She'd spent her childhood surrounded by nothing but love and kindness—indeed, by all accounts, she'd led a charmed life for sixteen years—only to learn that her happiness was a veritable castle of lies.

And really, Rose could scarcely take care of herself. She knew enough magic to fix a disgusting cup of tea and perhaps defend it from a cool breeze, and here she was weeping like the child she was into the shoulder of someone she really didn't even know very well because of how utterly powerless she was to ease the pain of someone else about whom, incidentally, she also knew next to nothing.

"I am so sorry, dear," Kinsale said softly, stroking Rose's hair. "Perhaps I shouldn't have told you."

"N—no, it's…" Rose tried, but she was hyperventilating. "It's—I—I'm glad—you did…"

"Shh, there, there," Kinsale murmured.

Rose waited to speak until her breathing had steadied. "It…she…everything…sort of makes more sense to me now, in a way…"

"I hope you won't think of her as a mere product of her tragic childhood," Kinsale said.

"No, I mean…" Rose righted herself and wiped her eyes on her sleeve. "I had this stupid idea that I could…help her or, I don't know, save her from herself or something…"

Kinsale smiled sadly. "That isn't stupid, Aurora. As I think I mentioned to you once before, it isn't easy for a wicked fairy and a human to understand one another. It's not impossible; it simply takes more time than most people have."

Rose twisted her hands fretfully, "I want to…I don't know…to go to her and talk to her. But that's stupid, too."

Kinsale took Rose's hands—which were small, pale, and uncommonly cold—between her own—which were long-fingered, emerald green, and warm—and with the comforting gesture brought an end to the fitful movement. Rose looked up into Kinsale's eyes and saw in them a grave seriousness. "If and when she realizes her many mistakes, she'll come here and apologize for her behaviour," Kinsale said. The implication was that Rose must wait for this hypothetical event to occur.

"What if she doesn't?"

Kinsale's brow furrowed ever so slightly. "She will," she said, her voice thin. "One way or another, I'm certain she will."


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N:** Wow, so THANK YOU for all of your kind reviews and words of encouragement! I don't even know what to say! I really hope that you continue to enjoy this story (and if you do not, that you tell me why), and that you continue to share your thoughts!

This chapter begins with a little bit of backtracking. I tried to make sure you were mostly only learning new things from Maleficent's point of view, but I'd like to know if you think it's too rehash-y or if it's not clear where these moments fit into the story you already know. Or if you just don't find the information necessary. As always, your readership and feedback are so, so much appreciated!

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**Chapter 13 – The Reckoning**

Maleficent couldn't remember the last time she had felt particularly well. Throughout her entire life, she'd been plagued by an ever-present undercurrent of unease. She felt that every day was a struggle to defend what little she had secured for herself and thereby not only ensure her survival, but that the life she so fiercely protected was at least tolerable, if not perhaps exactly enjoyable.

In fact, most of Maleficent's enjoyment came from Schadenfreude. She found that if she could convince herself that someone else was worse off than she, or better yet, if she could engender someone else's misfortune, she felt infinitely less horrible about the state of her own life.

Adding Briar Rose to the miserable equation that was usually her existence had been almost too much to handle. Strike that, it had been far, far too much. First of all, Maleficent had become fonder of Rose in their first encounter than she ever was of most people. The princess was beautiful, even looking past the magical beauty Flora had gifted her, and she was spirited, clever, and curious, not to mention disarmingly kind-hearted. Maleficent had noticed this when Rose became teary-eyed at the idea of Maleficent being put to death. Maleficent, who had cursed her, who had, albeit for a short time which had now passed, wanted her dead, and Rose found it unthinkable that she should be put to death for her crimes. It showed a remarkable disregard for self-preservation, really.

At the time, Maleficent had seen it as a thing to exploit. The princess was kind-hearted and unhappy. Maleficent would promise her whatever she thought might make her happy in return for her freedom.

_I want you to take me with you._

Admittedly she hadn't expected that—and this, too, was to the princess's credit, for Maleficent had experienced few surprises in her lifetime. It was rather poetic, though: freedom for freedom. Maleficent had no idea what she was supposed to do with an emotionally fragile human girl who was little more than a child, but she wasn't very well going to say no, was she?

Indeed, Briar Rose was unlike anyone Maleficent was used to dealing with. She was often indirect and wishy-washy in an attempt to be polite, her first response to being hurt or offended (which was very easy to do) was to insult herself or to cry, and she did not seem to operate on any sort of hidden agenda. Her plans had genuinely only extended as far as asking Maleficent to take her along. She didn't want to stay in the castle anymore (not that Maleficent could blame her), so why not go traipsing away with her would-be murderer? Maleficent didn't bother asking her where she was planning to go or what she might do there. She realized almost immediately that Rose had no idea, and the princess was so prone to self-loathing, anyway, that asking such questions could only end in disaster.

And Maleficent couldn't just let her wander off—oh no, that would be too damn simple. She was so…fragile. So defenseless. And although defenselessness would normally cause Maleficent's lip to curl in either disgust or delight, in this particular instance, she was seized by the unfamiliar desire to be helpful. She found that, just as much as she wanted to protect herself, she wanted to protect Briar Rose. In as few as six hours and without her knowledge or consent, Rose had been suddenly added to Maleficent's list of priorities, and there was something profoundly unnerving about that.

Upon further inspection, Maleficent discovered many things about Briar Rose that unnerved her, chief among them Rose's insatiable interest in Maleficent's many unresolved personal issues. It seemed she was always ready with a question Maleficent didn't even want to answer within the confines of her own mind or a hand to reach out in a misguided attempt at comfort.

Maleficent didn't like to be touched by just anyone, and being touched without warning almost invariably brought unpleasant memories to the forefront of her mind. She'd rarely been touched as a child—her sisters kept their distance unless they were fighting with her and her mother kept her distance unless she was in the foulest of moods. The only times she'd been touched in her travels, it had been by men who thought they could touch her if they felt like it—that if they could get close enough to touch her, they could overpower her—and she had quickly and mercilessly corrected their misconceptions. There was nothing she despised more. As soon as she'd gained the necessary skills to fend off unwanted touch, they had become a reflex. If someone touched her unexpectedly, she responded with a vicious magical attack and asked questions later.

Fellow wicked fairies who were also women usually understood this best. Maleficent seldom had a problem with her kin touching her, mostly because they didn't. Kinsale was the exception to this rule, and Maleficent had become somewhat accustomed to her constant need to touch for no reason at all. She had eventually accepted that Kinsale could understand Maleficent's aversion to touch without sharing it.

She disliked her reaction to Briar Rose touching her because it made her feel like some sort of crazed animal. A slip of a human girl about two heads shorter than she reached out and brushed her arm and Maleficent reacted as though the Force were upon her. Perhaps Zenovia had been right all those years ago in saying Maleficent was too high-strung and needed to seriously examine her paranoia.

What she disliked even more, however, was that one reflexive shot hadn't been enough to deter future touching. Not a few days later, when Maleficent had discovered that all that remained of the Dragon Country was a lone dragonet hidden away in a cave, she had become suddenly overwhelmed.

"I feel…" she'd found herself saying aloud as she groped blindly for words she could barely even comprehend. "I feel alone," she'd decided finally. "Empty."

Her first thought was that she wished she hadn't brought Rose to the cave. She wanted to be alone in her grief. Her second thought was that she was glad she had brought Rose along because she desperately did not want to be alone in her grief. Immediately following that was how absurd it was for her not to want to be alone. Maleficent could not remember a time when she hadn't felt that way. Even in her youth, constantly surrounded by her family, she'd known that there would come a day when she would be completely alone, and she had wasted no time in preparing for that.

The time she had spent with Kinsale had been the closest she'd ever felt to _not alone_. And then something in Kinsale had changed and Maleficent could not understand it, no matter how hard she tried, no matter how long she stared into Kinsale's eyes and tried to ask her, _What is it you want from me? What do you suddenly want that I don't know how to give you?_

And instead of waiting in silent dread of the answer that might never come, Maleficent had run away. She'd spent too long waiting for the inevitable, she thought. It was her right to run away.

"I feel as though a large part of me is missing," she'd amended, and this was as close to accurate as she felt she could be.

And then suddenly she had not been quite so alone. The girl—the girl she barely even knew, the girl she'd wanted dead, but who seemed really rather pleasant company and who on a small, unimportant side note, had just recently saved her life for no good reason—the girl had suddenly been very much there and very much in her personal space.

And there were her hands, reaching out for Maleficent. She saw them coming. She could have stopped them. Rose was giving her every opportunity to do so, and she should have done. She didn't want to be touched. She'd made that clear already.

But she did nothing. She allowed Rose to touch her face. Her hands were soft and warm, and the sensation was slightly overwhelming. Some shackles those little hands were, and yet Maleficent felt as though she could not move. She looked up—how long had it been since she had to look up at anyone?—into Rose's eyes, which were an intense violet shade of blue, and once again tried to ask the same silent question she had never dared to pose to Kinsale.

_What do you want from me?_

With painstaking deliberation, Rose settled herself into Maleficent's arms as though she belonged there, and the tears Maleficent had thus far kept at bay suddenly sprung to her eyes. She bit her lip and breathed deeply for a few seconds until she had them under control and then, for lack of a better idea, placed her arms awkwardly around the princess, who seemed to be already half-asleep. She stayed there, stiff and unmoving, until she heard Rose's breathing deepen, then she carried the princess back to Acacia's bed.

A moment later, when Maleficent lay wide awake in her own childhood bed, she began to feel angry.

Who in Hell's name was she! Who was she to come waltzing into Maleficent's life and touching her as though it were nothing? Who was she to—to—to _snuggle up_ to her as though Maleficent couldn't and wouldn't snap her lovely little neck?

This time, though, she had nowhere to run. She had run to her only remaining hiding place. It wasn't as though Kinsale wouldn't have taken her in, but she came with her own myriad of unresolved past issues with which Maleficent was simply not equipped to even begin to deal.

Maleficent had run in the best way she could. She'd spent her days anywhere but in her mother's house, usually in dragon form where most strong emotions blurred into fire-breathing rage, but there was Briar Rose at the end of the day waiting up for her. What exactly was she playing at? The truly jarring thing—and no matter how many times Maleficent reminded herself of this, she still could not quite wrap her head around it—was that Rose wasn't playing at anything. She wouldn't know how if she tried.

It was unnerving, and Maleficent really preferred to distance herself from it whenever possible.

Then, when Rose took to her studying night and day and Maleficent never saw her anymore, this was the worst part—Maleficent began to miss her. She missed feeling uncomfortable! How absurd was that?

She convinced herself at first that she was only stopping in every so often to drop off a book or some food, then just to make sure the girl was still alive. After a month or two, though, Maleficent dropped all pretense. She looked in upon Briar Rose every night before she went to sleep and every morning when she awoke because she wanted to see her, and how pathetic could she be, really?

In all honesty, she had begun to feel something remarkably akin to optimism. She surprised herself by not wanting to dwell upon the probability of Rose striking out on her own as soon as she had the means to protect herself and dwelt instead upon the ridiculous notion that, now a bit older and equipped with a bit of magic, she might be on slightly more equal footing with Maleficent and Maleficent wouldn't feel so horribly bad for wanting her.

There, she supposed, was the crux of the problem.

Maleficent hated that out of all of the powerful, attractive, perfectly available people she had met in her life—wicked fairies who would not think her looks freakish, who would think twice before calling her _it_ or _that monster_, who would not find her worldview unfathomable, and who would have been equipped to respond to her advances as they'd seen fit if she had ever made any—the one who should finally 'strike her fancy' was not only a human girl who was all but helpless, married, and a princess, but the very princess she had almost killed.

If Rose had been a younger, less experienced wicked fairy, regardless of the other complications, Maleficent wouldn't have been so bothered by it. It wouldn't have been the first time in the history of the world that an older wicked fairy had lusted after a younger one, and it wouldn't have been the biggest age difference by far.

Unfortunately, the only stories Maleficent had ever heard of wicked fairies lusting after humans were rather gruesome and not really how Maleficent cared to identify herself. Rose was not a wicked fairy. She was barely even magical, and she was scarcely more than a child. Should Maleficent accidentally reveal her feelings, they would not be merely unrequited or even unwanted, they would be predatory. It was not lost on Maleficent that she held considerable power over Rose, physical and mental. If Maleficent were to make some kind of advance, Rose would be under immense pressure to acquiesce out of fear for her personal safety. While knowing this made Maleficent physically ill, it did little to curb her attraction.

As if Maleficent weren't already on the edge of madness, then she'd gone to visit Joy.

"So," she'd said, "what brings Maleficent the Great and Powerful to my doorstep?"

"What is that supposed to mean?" Maleficent frowned.

"I'd have thought you'd know very well what it means. Those three obnoxious little good fairies plus Felicity of all people came by to taunt me about it."

"About what?"

"How you enchanted the Eastern Princess to set you free while you were Chained, of course," Joy waved her hands erratically and Maleficent's stomach sank.

Maleficent was stunned into silence for a moment or two, but it was all Joy needed to understand.

"Oh," she murmured.

_I am going to die_, thought Maleficent.

The next few days had nearly driven her certifiably mad. She'd tried and tried to think of some way around this, some loophole wherein she could get out of this alive and wouldn't have to spend the remainder of her life hiding, and found absolutely nothing. It was strange, because it seemed she'd been in direr straits than these. It seemed with a bit of time to formulate a plan she ought to be able to come up with something. Even a long shot at this point would be worth a go.

And yet there seemed to be no way out. When Sara heard the rumour—and if Felicity had anything to do with it, she would—she would want Maleficent out of the picture as soon and as publicly as possible, as a message to anyone who dared defy her. Maleficent's power would be seen as a direct threat to Sara, a skill deliberately developed to counteract the effects of the Chains of Avasina, and she would be put to death one way or another.

One evening, Maleficent peeked into Rose's room to find her asleep in the desk chair, her head propped up on her hand as though she were still reading, though the candle had burnt out long ago. Maleficent did her best to move Rose gently over to the bed and tucked her in. She thought Rose might have awoken for an instant, but she wouldn't likely stir. She didn't know much about human sorceresses, but from what she had observed of Rose, practicing magic invariably exhausted her to the point of unconsciousness.

Maleficent smoothed Rose's hair and a fresh wave of unease flooded through her. She had to get Rose out of harm's way. Preferably sooner rather than later.

For lack of anything better to do but lie awake in her own bedroom down the hall, Maleficent moved the desk chair over to Rose's bedside and sat down, heaving a deep sigh of exhaustion.

Perhaps it would be best if, when Sara invariably heard the rumour and sent someone after her, she were to go down without much of a fight. This was a bit of a long shot plan, but it might work in her favour. If Sara found out about Maleficent's alleged power and took drastic measures to contain her and Maleficent did not put up adequate resistance to justify Sara's means, she would probably still die, but in doing so, she would prove that Sara was acting rashly where wicked fairies were concerned—very publicly so if she were lucky—and Sara's scheme to get rid of all the wicked fairies in the world might just end with Maleficent.

Half-consciously, Maleficent wrapped her arms around herself as she began to shiver. The idea made sense to her, and she couldn't think of any other. Still, after all these years of fiercely protecting her life, of surviving before all else, it felt just a bit like giving up.

Maleficent didn't want to die. Her life had only just recently become something close to enjoyable.

She glanced back at Rose's face, her features peaceful in slumber, just the way she had looked when she'd slept under Maleficent's curse. She wondered how Prince Philip had felt when he'd finally climbed the hundreds of winding stairs to that tower room, laid eyes upon such a magnificent creature and known that she'd awaken only for his kiss. She wondered whether he appreciated the intricate beauty in that, that in that moment he should be the one person in all the world who could give Briar Rose her freedom.

She rather doubted he did, but perhaps her opinion of the Northern Prince was somewhat jaded by his insistence upon referring to Maleficent as 'it.'

Perhaps Maleficent was over-poeticizing—all of that was, of course, presuming Maleficent's spell hadn't been broken by her near-death, anyway. If it had, any old kiss would probably have done the trick. How should Maleficent know? She knew about as much of Magical True Love as Merryweather did.

It was rather bizarre that Philip should be Rose's True Love—as Maleficent understood it, that sort of magic was difficult to detect, especially if one had never personally experienced it. It also made little sense. Rose hadn't so much as mentioned Philip in months.

In any event, Maleficent certainly wasn't going to be the one to bring him up.

After another few moments of senseless wishful thinking, Maleficent retired to her own bedroom. She eventually did manage to get to sleep, but in her dreams, she was Chained and forced to watch as Mistress Sara challenged Briar Rose to a duel. Rose tried to fight back, but her magic was too weak, and instead, she fell to her knees and begged for mercy. Sara laughed cruelly and looked over at Maleficent before she slit Rose's throat.

Maleficent awoke drenched in sweat, a scream she could never forget still ringing in her ears. She was surprised to find that she was not in chains and that she was in full possession of her magic, and she all but leapt from her bed, as though lying there any longer would somehow force her to go to sleep again. Without thinking, she made her way back to Briar Rose's room. She saw a light from beneath the door and knocked.

"Come in," said the voice that had begun to haunt her dreams, soft and perhaps a little tired, but very much alive and not in pain.

Maleficent opened the door and leaned her head in to see Briar Rose sitting on the edge of her bed, golden hair bathed in soft candlelight. She looked up at Maleficent as she entered and smiled. Maleficent had to swallow a lump in her throat before she spoke. "Good evening."

"Look!" she said. "Now you see me…now you don't!"

And indeed, she disappeared completely for a full three or four seconds. As she faded back into view, her expression had turned from one of excitement to one of frustration. "Useless," she said.

"Progress," Maleficent corrected her. Perhaps, she thought, Briar Rose would have time to become a proper sorceress before anyone came after Maleficent.

She'd briefly considered simply telling Rose her plan, but upon seeing the girl's reaction to the barest essentials of it, telling her more seemed like a poor choice in the making. She supposed she'd already known that. Briar Rose had saved her life once before with absolutely no reason. Now that she thought of Maleficent as a friend…well, Maleficent had already known she needed to get Rose away from her. She simply hadn't known her goodbye would have to be so soon.

Maleficent didn't go back to bed that night. She couldn't bear the thought of enduring a similar nightmare, and with the image still plaguing her, she was unlikely to be rid of it until she had the time and patience to brew herself a dreamless sleeping potion. Part of her supposed she ought to make time eventually—perhaps a night of untroubled rest would do her mind a bit of good—but another part of her thought perhaps she ought to stay awake and make use of what might very well be her last months or even weeks of life.

Maleficent ultimately decided to light the fireplace downstairs. She then sat in front of it to contemplate all of the unfinished business in her life and how to go about finishing it to the best of her ability.

She had already thought of Diablo earlier. She'd been investigating how to turn him back from stone into a bird—if such a thing was possible—and she thought she'd come upon the correct spell, when…what had happened? The meeting with Joy, she supposed. Well, she ought to get on that. Diablo was a magically enchanted bird. After she died and her enchantment upon him ended, he wouldn't likely have very long left to live, but it would be nice to have her most faithful companion by her side until the end. She'd asked Briar Rose to go along with her to attempt to retrieve Diablo for some idiotic reason…she supposed she was already preparing herself for the separation she knew must occur...yet, nothing could go horribly wrong. She was prepared for whatever happened.

Perhaps she ought to ask Kinsale about what happened between them all those years ago. She doubted there would be any hard feelings, and it would ease her mind to finally know what had changed in Kinsale that Maleficent had failed to understand. Perhaps if it would do Maleficent good to talk about it, it would be good for Kinsale, as well.

As for Briar Rose…well, she had the sneaking suspicion that that particular business would have to be left unfinished. There were so many things she should say, and still more she simply wanted to say to clear her own mind, but if she was to ensure Rose's safety, she must somehow get rid of Rose without letting on that she planned to die.

Maleficent supposed in a way she had already prepared herself for Diablo's death. She'd lost so much already, she almost expected she'd lost him, as well. When she cast the spell, the stone statue of a bird in flight melted into the bird, himself, which immediately fell limply into Maleficent's outstretched arms. Maleficent sank onto the balcony of her former home and sat there for an hour or more, cradling the body of her beloved pet.

She wasn't quite certain how much more of it she could take—losing people. It was enough to make one want to hole oneself up alone for the rest of one's miserable existence so as not to have to deal with this kind of heartbreak over and over again. Soon she'd have to drive Rose away somehow. She'd have to frighten her so that all of her little fears and suspicions about the dangerous monster she called a friend would be confirmed and she'd run away—hopefully to Kinsale, who not only had the capacity to keep her safe but other delightful attributes such as having few secrets or painful memories for Rose to stumble upon and no hang-ups vis-à-vis touching or being touched.

Maleficent found herself envying Kinsale within the context of a bizarre hypothetical situation. She pictured the two of them taking their tea side by side, no fear or hesitation in Rose's eyes as she spoke. She pictured each of them occasionally reaching out to touch the other casually, to punctuate something they'd said or when they were laughing, just because they wanted to.

Wasn't this the way touch was supposed to work? Was it not meant to be pleasant and without threat or dramatic consequences?

Maleficent envied Kinsale, yet she felt happy for Briar Rose. The image in her head made her feel that she was doing the right thing by sending Rose away.

She still owed Rose a challenge. That would be as good a time as any to frighten Rose into running away from her. Then she might mourn her two losses in peace, and perhaps suffer no more before she met her own demise. The book with the easiest transportation spell Maleficent could think of lay in Maleficent's library here in the Forbidden Mountains—she'd leave it for Rose to find and hope for the best.

As she buried the remains of her raven companion, Maleficent tried once again to remind herself that she was doing what she must. If Rose knew Maleficent meant to die for the sake of her species, she'd try to stop her, and there was a very good chance she'd succeed to her own detriment. This way, Rose wouldn't have to know until it was too late. Perhaps Maleficent could write her a letter.

Then again, perhaps it would be better if she believed Maleficent to be beyond help. She'd mourn her death, of course, for she'd made it clear she would mourn anyone's death, but if Maleficent could convince her that she was unworthy of her loyalty, Rose would have an easier time moving on with her life.

Determining how best to frighten Rose was not difficult. She simply did what she never did, and the moment she began encroaching upon Rose's personal space, she saw what she'd almost forgotten was there all along. The girl feared her.

"Please, stop!" she had begged, her eyes shining with tears.

"Do you think someone who wanted to hurt you would stop if you asked him to?" Maleficent sneered in response, trying to forget that those fearful eyes belonged to Briar Rose.

What brought her back from her delusion were Rose's accusing words, "No, but I thought you would!" Maleficent could take no more than that. She let go of Rose, who crumpled into a heap upon the floor, and shot up the stairs. Someone who wanted to hurt Rose wouldn't heed her pleas. For all Maleficent knew, she might not have heeded the girl's pleas even a year ago.

As it stood, however, the Maleficent who liked to pretend she was driving Rose away for her own safety (and not for Maleficent's personal comfort) had done her duty as well as she could stand to do it. She deposited the proper book in Rose's bedroom and locked herself inside her own. A twisted part of her considered chaining herself to the walls, Silencing herself, and spending the rest of her days waiting for someone to come and find her. It would be fitting, she thought venomously. She'd end her life the way she began it: alone, trapped, and powerless…a prisoner of her own mind.

But then, she supposed she didn't need to take any special measures to achieve that poetic justice.

Strangely, she knew when Rose was gone. She wasn't certain whether she'd felt the spell or the absence of the person, but she left her room to check (in part because failed transportation spells sometimes ended in severed limbs getting left behind) and sure enough, the only trace of Briar Rose that remained was the tiny daisy growing out of a crack in the writing desk.

Maleficent stood in the center of the room for a few more moments staring half at the little daisy and half at nothing in particular. Eventually, the information made its way into her brain: Briar Rose was gone. Maleficent crawled onto the bed which had once been her sister's and which was no longer Rose's. She grasped Rose's pillow between shaking hands and lay on her side, curling herself into a ball around it.

_Goodbye, Diablo_, she thought. _Wouldn't you have a lot to say if you could see me now? And what I wouldn't give to explain every last detail to you, old friend. _

What she wouldn't give to be able to explain every last detail to herself, really.

_Goodbye, Briar Rose_, she thought next, and the teardrop that fell onto Rose's pillow surprised her. _You saved my life…_

She clutched the pillow against herself and wept, a small moan of despair escaping her lips. She had truly lost everything now.

_Goodbye, Briar Rose._

_You saved my life…_

…_and now I've saved yours._

* * *

Zalia had always been rather fond of Mistress Kinsale—in no small part because she enjoyed her writing—and she had always found Mistress Felicity and her sisters a bit intimidating. Felicity was friends with her older sister, Milla. Until Kinsale had evidently snapped and taken up for a dangerous lunatic, Zalia and Felicity had never had much to talk about.

"Oh, my dear, I know—I understand," Felicity gushed upon hearing of Zalia's most recent encounter with Kinsale. "Many, many people have been drawn in by Kinsale's friendly exterior," she explained as she called for someone to escort Zalia to the Eastern Good Fairies' chambers. "In the end, they're all the same, and they'll all protect their own at the expense of reason."

Zalia had never met the Eastern Good Fairies before. She found Flora and Merryweather still in a state of shock at the recent actions of their middle sister, Fauna.

"—never says so much as a word against anyone—"

"—or for anyone, for that matter!"

"She's always sort of seemed contented to do as she was told, or what we were doing!"

"Nothing less—"

"—and certainly nothing more—"

"Run off!"

"Without even speaking to us about it!"

Flora and Merryweather had the nasty and highly irritating habit of speaking over one another. Zalia could barely understand the gist of what they were saying. Apparently Fauna had recently made a decision without the input of her sisters and had left to serve as King's Counsel while Flora and Merryweather continued to aid Felicity. Perhaps Zalia did not quite grasp the urgency of the situation, but she wasn't certain she cared enough to try.

Still, Flora and Merryweather were overjoyed at the prospect of returning the Princess Aurora to her family—and of getting a chance to visit their recently departed sister and ask her a few burning questions—without abandoning their newfound commitment to the Cause.

"I knew it! I knew it, I knew it, I knew it!" Merryweather kept saying when they learned that Aurora was currently residing with Mistress Kinsale of the Valley.

"And if you hadn't been so rash, it mightn't have taken us a year to find out," Flora replied with a _humph_.

The sisters bickered all the way to Kinsale's home, and Zalia actually had to shush them when she saw Kinsale appear from behind her stone wall, then dissolve into a cloud of smoke and disappear completely. Zalia so envied wicked fairies' ability to transport themselves that way. They could instantly go anywhere they had ever been, and some places they had never been.

When they approached the walls, nothing happened. Zalia found this quite peculiar—she supposed she had only ever come by when Kinsale was home, for she found it unfathomable not to hear the customary _WHO GOES THERE? _bellowing from every possible direction.

Just as Sara said, without Kinsale, the security system was all but useless. A few simple spells and they flew easily over the wall and up to the front door, which was not even locked.

Kinsale's ballroom was, in her absence, a dark and somewhat eerie place. The only light in the room streamed from a few open windows here and there, and all of Kinsale's elegant furniture cast strange, almost frightening shadows.

"Stand back!" said a familiar voice, and Flora, Merryweather, and Zalia were all knocked to the ground. "S-stay where you are," the voice added tremulously, and suddenly two members of the party were painfully aware of the person to whom the voice belonged.

The Princess Aurora appeared out of the shadows, holding the staff of a wicked fairy awkwardly in front of her. Her knuckles were white with the effort, and her entire body was shaking.

"Rose!" cried Flora and Merryweather at once.

Aurora almost dropped the staff. The fear in her eyes increased tenfold, and she looked and sounded as though she wanted to cry. "What are you doing here?"

"We've come to take you home, Rose," said Flora, standing and dusting herself off. "Now, put that thing down before you hurt yourself," she commanded as she approached.

"No! Stand back!" Aurora said again, and again, Flora was knocked to the ground. "I told you to stay where you are," she said, but she would have been much more convincing if she weren't trembling.

"Who taught you that, Rose?" whispered Merryweather, horrified. "Who made you do magic?"

"Nevermind that," the princess snapped. The Eastern Fairies gasped and clutched at one another, evidently as stunned by her behavior as was Zalia. "Please be on your way. Mistress Kinsale will be back soon, and she won't be nearly as merciful."

"I'm afraid we're on orders to take you back to the King, Princess Aurora," said Zalia, having finally somewhat recovered from the shock that her intended charge was at least a hundred times more powerful than she had anticipated. Was this truly the same girl who had frozen in fear upon being accosted a few weeks ago?

"Stay away from me!" Aurora cried, and this time, she used the staff to fire a spell. Zalia anticipated it, though, and she caught and deflected it. There was a brief struggle—Aurora tried firing a few more spells, but they were only defensive ones and did little to deter Zalia. Once Zalia had wrested the staff away from her and caught her by the wrists, Aurora was completely powerless.

Zalia quickly summoned the chains Sara had given her and enchanted them, just in case Aurora knew any spells for breaking them. There was no way Sara could have anticipated Aurora knowing any magic. Zalia's enchantment would at least hold Aurora until they made it to King Stefan's castle. "Don't worry, my dear," she said, fastening the chains. "You'll thank me in the end."

Zalia turned back to Flora and Merryweather. "I gather this is an unexpected development?"

The two fairies nodded dumbly.

"No matter," said Zalia. She was well aware that the Eastern Kingdom was in possession of Avasina's Chains. "She'll have to be Chained, of course, but a year should do it."

Upon hearing this, Aurora stomped upon one of Zalia's feet and attempted to run away with strides as big as her chains would allow. Zalia spun after her and cast a binding spell, but the princess suddenly disappeared completely from view and her spell bounced off of a wall. Apparently Aurora was a better sorceress than she seemed. Indeed, she would have made it up the stairs if her chains hadn't made such a commotion. Zalia fired her binding spell in the direction of the noise and the princess slowly faded back into view as she fell paralyzed upon the staircase.

"Are you going to behave, or am I going to carry you all the way to the next realm in a body bag?"

Princess Aurora stared blankly back at her, unable even to blink.

"That's what I thought," said Zalia with a smirk, undoing the spell. She helped Aurora to her feet with a tug on her chains and deposited her with Flora and Merryweather for a moment. Zalia gazed lovingly around the elegant ballroom, and then she threw up her hands and screamed so loudly that everything in the room—tables, chairs, chandeliers, and Kinsale's beloved throne with the shape of a lion's head atop it—shattered into tiny pieces.

With a nod of satisfaction, she deposited Sara's note in the middle of the floor, and the party continued their journey to the Eastern Kingdom.

* * *

Truth Serum was a nifty little tool cooked up by a good fairy a few centuries back during one of the Crusades. Even the best liar wasn't immune to the stuff—if someone got a few drops down your throat, you couldn't help but tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

When Joy acquired a small vial from her pal Makeda up in the northern Desert, she was thrilled to allow Fauna go on her merry way to the Eastern Kingdom, promising to contact her when her help was required. Fauna was a hesitant ally, certainly, but she was a very valuable one nonetheless. One could never underestimate the value of a good fairy when the Chains of Avasina were involved.

Her next order of business occurred a few days later when, around noon, Zenovia arrived at her doorstep, shortly followed by Kinsale.

Joy had always gotten along quite splendidly with both Zenovia and Kinsale. While she and Zenovia shared more common ground in general, Kinsale had written a book about her back when she was Queen's Counsel, and she had almost been Chained for trying to write the truth. Joy admired Kinsale tremendously for her courage, a trait many people (including Zenovia) failed to see in her. Zenovia found Kinsale to be 'exceedingly prone to nonsense,' a designation she found unforgivable, and thus avoided contact with her when possible, especially one-on-one.

The two nodded politely to one another, but neither seemed willing to make idle chitchat. While this was standard behavior for Zenovia, it was highly unusual for Kinsale, who, it had been posited, would probably attempt to strike up a conversation whilst being burned at the stake.

"So, my theory," said Joy when she had served her guests tea, "is that Sara is going to want to use Maleficent as an example."

Kinsale and Zenovia both nodded in agreement.

"She's going to cook up some scheme to get Maleficent to the Kingdom by the Sea—set her up somehow—and the Mountainland Fairies are going to be waiting. She'll expect to be able to draw Maleficent into a fight and, when she defeats them, the Queen's Counsel will be waiting to pass their verdict on the situation and the court will agree to give Sara control of the Force to deal with Maleficent. Thoughts?"

"Maleficent has approximately the same theory," said Kinsale. She sounded tired. "She plans to lose easily to the Mountainland Fairies to reveal that Sara has acted rashly, in hopes that she'll be brought to justice."

Zenovia looked at Kinsale in surprise. "What?"

"That's what she told me last week," said Kinsale. She did not sound particularly thrilled with the idea. Joy was surprised that Kinsale seemed so calm—she and Maleficent were close friends.

"There's no sense in that!" Zenovia exclaimed, her voice and gestures suddenly impassioned. "These good fairies aren't playing by the rules—if Maleficent martyrs herself like that, the only thing that will happen is that we'll lose an excellent fighter."

"Think of another plan, then," Kinsale replied almost despondently. "She won't listen unless there's a better plan."

"The plan is for Maleficent not to simply walk into whatever flimsy trap Sara sets up."

"Instead, she should what? Wait for Sara to hunt her down?"

"Yes, and she should prepare and fight!" Zenovia replied as though this answer were obvious. "Maleficent could beat the Mountainland Fairies, and then we'd have time before the Force—"

"If she bests all of the Mountainland Fairies at once, the Court will rule against her," Joy interjected. "There will be nothing to be done then."

"Then what do you suggest?" Zenovia snapped.

"I have taken the liberty of writing to the Queen regarding Maleficent. I'm confident that she'll grant me a meeting to discuss the issue. If we get to her before Sara does, there's a chance that she'll listen to me."

"Are you certain of that? What about the debacle with Acacia?"

"Don't you start with me!" Joy snarled at Zenovia, who stood. "You know damn well what happened."

"Yes, I do. You let your baser instincts get in the way of your duty."

Joy and Zenovia summoned their staves and in the same instant, each held her staff at the other's throat. "It's rude to speak ill of the dead."

"She'd still be alive if not for you."

"_Don't_ act like you care!"

"Ladies!" Kinsale cried, shoving herself between them. "If the good fairies destroy us, it will be because of this, right here. You know that. They want us to act like this, believing we are alone, believing we cannot understand or care for anyone but ourselves. Show some compassion, _please_."

Zenovia regarded Kinsale with narrowed eyes, but she nodded. "I apologize, Joy."

"Thank you," said Joy, and for a moment, there was uncomfortable silence as the three wicked fairies stared solemnly at their feet.

"So, we're agreed," said Kinsale. "I ask that one of you speak with Maleficent, as I feel I've already said everything I can. Ask her not to be hasty where Sara is concerned."

"I'll do it," said Joy, still to the floor. "It's less likely that I'll be followed. And I'll inform you both when I receive a response from the Queen."

"Good. Thank you for having us, Joy. Now, let's be on our way."

Upon inspection, Zenovia looked as though she might strangle Kinsale on the way out. She restrained herself, however, and the two exited in silence, leaving Joy to contemplate all of her failures alone.

In a way, Kinsale had reminded Joy of Terra just now, which was strange to think of, because she hadn't always been like that. She had always been chatty, of course, but not so long ago, she had used her people skills to manipulate and cause trouble rather than to keep the peace.

Terra had made a transition in the opposite direction. In their youth, she had been unfailingly kind, forgiving, and non-confrontational, and Joy had always believed it to be in her nature because she was somehow inherently Good. Nasty good fairy propaganda, of course, but a part of Joy still sometimes argued that Terra's transformation into the angry, troubled person she had become before her death had been the result of her association with Joy—that Joy had corrupted her natural, innate goodness. And no matter how many times she told herself that that was a lot of nonsense, Terra remained dead while Joy was alive and her fate would always be at least partially Joy's fault.

Zenovia's behavior wasn't unusual, and Joy didn't really begrudge her bringing up the subject she knew would provoke Joy to anger. It was an old wound at this point, but Joy suspected she would always feel the pain as though it were yesterday.

As she had told Fauna, not every fairy got the chance to experience love, and wicked fairies had the added impetus of having been raised never to trust or care for anyone other than themselves. By the time they even began to understand their errors, it was already too late.

* * *

"Aurora!"

"Rose..."

"How can we ever thank you?"

"She's in chains..."

"Oh, Aurora, I can't tell you—we were so worried!"

"Why is she in chains?"

"Are you all right? Is she all right?"

It was strange seeing these familiar faces crowded around her: the King and Queen, her estranged parents, Aunt Fauna, Philip… She felt as though she hadn't seen them in years—decades, even—or as though they had been part of another lifetime. Or as though they had only been part of a particularly disturbing dream.

"I recommend you keep your distance," said Zalia, the good fairy who had captured her. "She's been bewitched and taught a bit of magic—you mustn't get near her until she's been properly Chained."

Briar Rose was going to be put in the Chains of Avasina. By her immediate family, no less. She, who could not even defend herself, who could not even utilize enough magic to preserve her freedom, was going to be drained of the stuff, kept as a prisoner in her own home until she was as powerless as she had been less than a year ago, when all of this began.

"Chained?" King Stefan echoed. Rose still found it difficult to think of him as her father. "Chained, as in the way the Evil One was Chained?"

The Evil One…

_A visitor?_

_The chains around my wrists have caught your eye._

Zalia nodded in affirmation.

"Why in Heaven's name would you suggest I put my daughter in chains?"

"As I said, she has been taught magic by a wicked fairy, and she isn't…" Zalia glanced back at Rose, "…quite herself at the moment. The Chains are designed to impede and drain wicked fairy magic, and they're particularly effective on humans. She should be completely non-magical in a little under a year."

King Stefan shook his head, still uncomprehending. "She's been taught magic? But she's human! She is our child!" he gestured somewhat wildly to his wife, the Queen.

"Most humans are capable of learning wicked fairy magic, especially if they've been brainwashed. I am sorry, Your Majesty, but without the Chains, she could break even the strongest human's bones with her bare hands."

"Aurora?" Philip chimed in and Rose's heart and stomach lurched. "That's impossible. She couldn't hurt a fly—she wouldn't!"

"My sincerest apologies, Your Highness," said Zalia. "You may find the princess quite different in demeanour from the last time you saw her. She has been in the company of very powerful wicked fairies."

"That fiend!" Philip snarled, and Rose wanted to snarl right back at him. This surprised her somewhat, but she found herself feeling very protective of her former protector. "What has it done to her?"

"I assure you, Your Highness," Zalia reiterated. "Aurora will be quite all right; however, she must be kept in the Chains at all times for an entire year, to be safe."

King Stefan heaved a sigh and turned to Fauna. "Mistress Fauna, do you agree that this is the best course of action?"

Fauna looked at Rose with tears in her eyes, and Rose found it somehow impossible to hate her anymore. She knew Fauna was always thinking of the best interests of everyone but herself. "It's true, Your Majesty. If Ro—if Aurora is able to use magic, especially if she learned it from Maleficent, she could cause a great deal of harm without even meaning to."

King Stefan bowed his head for a moment, turned to the Queen and whispered something, then looked right at Rose, who gazed blankly back at him. Finally, he spoke quietly, "Very well. Mistress Fauna, please retrieve the Chains of Avasina."

Fauna curtseyed and disappeared, but Rose could see her beginning to cry as she turned away. To her surprise, Queen Leah approached Zalia. She kept her distance, but she addressed Rose directly. "Aurora," she said carefully. "I prepared a coming home present for you that I hope you'll like. Fauna suggested it—it's a harpsichord. And there's plenty of music for you."

A harpsichord? Rose had never seen a real one before. She wondered for a moment why Fauna had suggested such a thing, and then she remembered that Fauna had gifted her with song at her christening. Just as she had learned to sing, she would learn to play the harpsichord with ease. She tried to ignore that this would be her distraction from her imprisonment and the fact that all those months of hard work spent agonizing over magic would be slowly ebbing with every passing minute as she wondered what would become of the wicked fairies who were on the verge of fighting vastly outnumbered in a war…while she learned to play the harpsichord.

Instead, she forced a smile. "Thank you," she said quietly. She could not quite force the word Mother from where it lodged in her throat. The Queen's smile slowly turned into a grimace and she returned to her place by King Stefan's side as Fauna returned with the Chains.

Images of Maleficent flashed through Rose's mind—Maleficent with her wild black hair and her desperate eyes and limbs that seemed to be only perfect green skin stretched over bone, and then by contrast, Maleficent with her elegant robes and her horned headdress, but strangely, with the same desperate gleam in her eyes as she cried _Push me away._

At Zalia's suggestion, Flora and Merryweather fastened the Chains around Rose's ankles, so that she could play the harpsichord if she so chose. As she heard the cuffs of the Chains lock into place, she felt the peculiar sensation of missing something she hadn't even realized she possessed. After a moment, Zalia reached out and grabbed Rose's wrist roughly. Rose cried out in pain and Zalia let go, but her hand left a deep red print on Rose's skin.

"The Chains are doing their duty," she said simply, backing away as Philip approached.

"Aurora," he whispered with a smile, and Rose wondered whether he had always made her feel so queasy.

Rose was suddenly stricken by the notion that she had not thought much about Philip at all since the night of her escape. Months had passed wherein he had not even once crossed her mind. Now that she thought about it, it was bizarre, because after they had first met, Philip had positively consumed her thoughts, and when they were first married, she had devoted every last bit of her time and energy to him.

When Philip leaned forward to kiss her, she stumbled away from him. Just the thought of his lips upon hers was repellent. Had she always felt this way? Wasn't there a time when she loved him, or even thought she loved him enough to want him to kiss her?

What had changed?

_Besides everything_, she thought ruefully as Flora and Merryweather led her to her room. She supposed she'd soon have ample time for thinking about things like Philip and why everything here felt so wrong.

"What happened to her? Where did you find her?" Philip asked, following behind them.

"Mistress Zalia told us that she found Aurora while visiting Mistress Kinsale, a wicked fairy in the Kingdom of Hill and Valley," Merryweather told him.

"We had already visited Mistress Kinsale to ask if she knew anything, but _someone_ had to make a scene."

"Don't start with me!" Merryweather snapped. "The point is, Kinsale is apparently a close friend of Maleficent's—how in Heaven's name was I supposed to know that?"

Philip seemed vaguely disturbed by this news. "You mean to tell me that there are other creatures like that beast who cursed Aurora?"

"Of course," Flora responded. "Did you think Maleficent was one of a kind?"

Rose clenched her fists, but she found that this hurt the bones in her fingers.

"Wicked fairies are a dying race, but they're around," Merryweather agreed.

"My poor Aurora," Philip said, clasping her shoulder, and even this gentle touch hurt her. She wondered what it must have been like for Maleficent when she wore these chains, bearing a near-fatal sword wound, and the thought made her even more ill than she felt already. "What did they do to you?"

_Gave me food and shelter, clothes to wear, and books to read. Treated me as their equal even though I wasn't. Taught me magic so that I might at least have a chance at saving myself from this fate._

Rose found herself in possession of a strange awareness of what her answer was supposed to be. She was supposed to tell Philip that it was awful, that the wicked fairies were the cruel, soulless monsters he imagined them to be. She should say that she was so glad to be back at home, with him, where she belonged, and that she was so sorry for all of this.

She had half a mind to tell him the truth. Zalia had already convinced everyone that Rose—or rather, Aurora—'wasn't herself.' She could say whatever she wanted now and tell the lie later. She could tell Philip that she hadn't really been living until she set eyes on Maleficent and that the decision to set her free had been the only good decision she had ever made. She could tell him that she wished she had agreed to learn more than just defensive magic, and that if she had, maybe she wouldn't be here having this pleasant little chat on the way to her gilded prison cell. She could tell him that a small, disturbingly violent part of her wished that she could break a man's bones with her bare hands, just to have as an option the next time he decided to treat her like a stupid child.

Still, something in her was begging her to play along. After all, Rose only knew of two people who had escaped from the Chains of Avasina-Maleficent and Zenovia of the Mountainlands—and they had not made it out by fighting and gnashing their teeth. They had escaped because they knew how to say exactly what their captors wanted to hear.

"It was awful, Philip," she said quietly, directing her speech at her feet, which dragged the odd-looking Chains behind them with every step. "They pretended to be kind at first, but…" she almost choked on her words, "but then they turned out to be so cruel. I hate this," she spat truthfully. "I hate that I've come home like this. Oh, Philip," she looked up into his eyes, for he had replaced Merryweather on her right side. "I am so sorry for all of this," she spoke the words she knew she must, then looked away quickly as Philip drew her against him in a painful embrace.

"Oh, Aurora, it isn't your fault. You must know that. We are so glad that you're home, safe and sound. Everything will be just as it was before, Aurora—you'll see."

_That's what I fear most_, Rose thought sadly. She could feel Philip's arms crushing her bones—she thought he might break them, and she didn't know how to tell him that, so she was quite relieved when he let her go and they continued their journey to the room she had once willingly shared with Philip.

* * *

Maleficent was aware that on this particular Monday around midday, Kinsale would be meeting with Joy and Zenovia. She was also aware that it was a horrible idea for her to go and visit Briar Rose, and that Briar Rose probably did not want to see her, no matter what nonsense Kinsale was spewing.

However, the alternative was spending the few hours that she knew were her window of opportunity staring despondently into her fireplace and wondering what it would take to get her to comb her hair, and Maleficent absolutely hated being so lethargic. She combed her hair and braided it instead of putting it up in her usual headdress, then assumed the form of her usual disguise-a middle-aged woman with graying brown hair and kind caramel eyes-to make the journey to Kinsale's valley.

Maleficent had never come to visit when Kinsale was not home. It was strange not to hear the usual cry of _WHO GOES THERE?_ when she approached the high stone walls. Maleficent tried to find the source of Kinsale's protective spells, but could not. She placed a hand against the stone wall and it began to part immediately, without protest. Maleficent frowned. She'd be sending Kinsale a stern letter on the state of her security system when she was not home to enforce it.

When Maleficent opened Kinsale's front door, she nearly screamed. Everything in Kinsale's ballroom—the chandeliers and sconces, the fireplace, the tables and chairs, the teasets—had shattered into tiny pieces.

"Rose?" Maleficent called, her heart pounding in her ears. "ROSE!" But before she could even begin her frantic search, she caught sight of a note in the middle of the floor. She hoped Kinsale would forgive her for opening her mail.

_Please inform Maleficent that if she wants her pretty plaything back, she'll have to ask Mother. If she doesn't know where to find me, here's a clue._

The note was signed in Adara's handwriting. Also contained in the envelope was a seashell.

It appeared Maleficent would be making her way to the Kingdom by the Sea a bit sooner than she'd intended.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N:** Wow, again, THANK YOU ALL for your overwhelmingly kind and supportive feedback! I love to hear what you're thinking and it is so great that you're enjoying this story! I hope that you will continue to read and to share your thoughts/reactions/questions/whatever!

The songs quoted in this chapter are as follows: "Danny Boy" (Frederick Weatherly), "The Gallant Weaver," (Robert Burns), "The Rose of Tralee" (C. Spencer/Charles Glover), "A Dream is a Wish" (Mack David, Al Hoffman, Jerry Livingston; Cinderella), "Once Upon A Dream" (Jack Lawrence; Sleeping Beauty), and Art Thou Troubled (G.F. Handel). Obviously some artistic license was taken with the time period.

**WARNING:** This chapter contains implied descriptions of rape and vaguely descriptive violence. Please exercise caution when reading.

* * *

**Chapter 14 - The Breaking Point**

Maleficent had not been to the Kingdom by the Sea since she was about nineteen years old. She'd traveled to the area at fifteen with a band of male fairies, but had parted ways with them after a young man of about twenty-five tried to steal a kiss from her. It was not the first time she had been so accosted, and it was not the last, but by that age, a mere two years since the death of her sisters, Maleficent had learned to defend herself against unwanted touch. She'd left the man's entrails strewn along the shoreline, and her traveling party wisely decided they had no interest in challenging her to a duel over the matter. She ultimately took to the sea in a modified version of her dragon form, where she remained for about four years.

Being at sea, completely alone and with a negligible likelihood of running into anyone of comparable sentience—particularly the mother she had recently promised to kill—had calmed Maleficent significantly. However, she was not completely satisfied by the notion of spending the rest of her life adrift and eventually decided to return to shore.

It was at this time in the Kingdom by the Sea that Maleficent had first encountered Mistress Sara. Though she had of course known that her middle sister's favourite book, _The Biography of Mistress Acacia_, had been more or less an account of true events, she found it rather bizarre to be visiting the place in which they had transpired. The Kingdom by the Sea was well into its Golden Age of Prosperity. They had celebrations every year on the anniversaries of the deaths of both Cordelia and Acacia, and they worshiped Sara like some kind of deity. Maleficent first laid eyes upon Sara when she made one of her daily appearances upon the balcony of her home and the people of the village gathered around below to wave and cheer and throw flowers.

More than a little unnerved, she'd quickly taken her leave and had never found cause to return.

As she approached the kingdom's borders, she wondered whether the time in between then and now had been worthwhile. What had she accomplished, really? Had she grown or changed at all? Perhaps she was older, more knowledgeable, more powerful, but to what end? In many ways she felt just the same as she had then: frightened, directionless, and young.

She'd made a plan, one in which she thought she could get almost everything she wanted at the lowest cost. She could ensure Rose's safety as well as the safety of the handful of other people she cared about, she could (at the very least) put a kink in Mistress Sara's plans to destroy her species, and she could put an end to her personal suffering, albeit not perhaps in the way she'd have preferred.

Evidently her plan had not been foolproof. Rose was in immediate danger, and Maleficent must finally battle her own mother to the death on the off-chance that Adara hadn't killed Rose already. Putting this circumstance, which was largely out of her control, aside, she was now in the Kingdom by the Sea without having taken any steps to ensure that her plan would be a success. Sara might easily discover her presence and have her killed with no fanfare simply for the crime of hiding, and then where would she be?

Immediately upon placing a foot over the border into the territory of the Sea Kingdom, Maleficent was aware of someone watching her. She stopped, planted her feet, and swung her staff across her body in a defensive position.

"Show yourself," she said calmly.

"I'm impressed," said a voice she did not recognize. A short distance away from her, Mistress Sara faded into view. Maleficent had never seen her so close before. She was a very beautiful woman with pale skin, chestnut hair, and the grayish-blue eyes most common in good fairies, a bit shorter than Maleficent, but with much sturdier limbs. "Then again, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. You're well-known for your paranoia."

"Call it what you will," Maleficent responded. "I don't care for being caught by surprise."

Sara smiled. "I expect you're here to retrieve your prisoner?"

Oh.

"I beg your pardon?"

"The Eastern Princess Aurora. She was your prisoner until recently, am I correct?"

Well, she supposed she ought to have seen this coming.

"You are incorrect."

Sara laughed coldly, "What, then? Your willing companion? I highly doubt that."

"Tell me, Sara, did you find her in my company or Kinsale's?"

"From what I gather, that makes little difference," said Sara pointedly.

Maleficent resisted the urge to glare. "It makes a great deal of difference," she said, maintaining her neutrality. "Kinsale is known for her bizarre fascination with humans. It's not impossible that the princess could have been her willing companion."

"But how might she have gotten there?" Sara asked, her brow furrowed.

"I wouldn't know, Mistress Sara. It's my understanding that the Kings of East and Valley are acquainted. Perhaps the princesses and fairies of the two lands are acquainted, as well."

"Is it your intention to plead innocence, Maleficent? If so, how were you even aware that the princess was in Mistress Kinsale's company?"

Maleficent chuckled, "I was not aware that I was on trial, Mistress Sara. I'm arguing a hypothetical point. Hypothetically, I would be aware that the princess was in Kinsale's company because Kinsale is my longtime friend and I visit her from time to time. In actuality, we both know that I'm aware of that fact because I was responsible for the princess's escape from the Eastern Kingdom."

"Escape?" Sara repeated darkly.

"Escape," Maleficent confirmed. "I expect it was not lost upon you that she saved me from a death sentence? Do you truly think me so vile as to repay her kindness by keeping her as my prisoner?"

"Given that I've never met such a smooth liar in all of my days, Maleficent," said Sara with another chilling grin, "I'd hesitate to trust you if you told me your own name. I've had quite enough of this senseless chatter. You're to accompany me to a little demonstration I've organized in your honour."

Maleficent's pulse quickened. Perhaps her plan was not such a lost cause after all. She wasn't certain whether she ought to feel hopeful or frightened.

"And if I don't?"

"I'll see to it that everything you purport to hold dear, which evidently extends only as far as Mistress Kinsale and the Eastern Princess, meets a slow and painful demise, and I shall see to it that you witness it."

"You can't frighten me that way, Sara," Maleficent responded calmly. "I'm no stranger to death."

Sara sneered, "And why is that? What happened the night your mother disappeared, Maleficent? Was it because of the terror you struck into her heart when you murdered your sisters?"

"Is that what she told you? My, it seems my reputation really does precede me wherever I go."

"And even after all that, now that you've become so infamously formidable, you still slithered over here as fast as you could at the promise of spilling her blood. Did it not occur to you that I've been waiting for you to show yourself, Maleficent?"

"It did," Maleficent replied. "Did it occur to you that with all of my incredible power I wouldn't need to hide?"

"Then why the scarcity, might I ask?"

"Perhaps I simply had better things to do."

Sara's eyes began to glow faintly. "You vile creature! I shan't hear you speak of the Eastern Princess as another one of your conquests!"

A mirthless bark of a laugh escaped from Maleficent's lungs. "Conquests indeed!" she spat. "If it's a duel you want, Sara, let's get on with it."

Sara's demeanour abruptly changed to one of self-satisfaction. Evidently her goal had been to get a rise out of Maleficent. "Oh no," she said smugly. "Oh, insignificant little slug that I am, I'm beneath you, Maleficent. You're going to follow me and you're going to do battle at your level."

"I think I'd rather just slit your throat and slither back into my cave of debauchery if you don't mind."

"I see you are as soulless as I've been led to believe, Maleficent," Sara replied. Her calmness was infuriating. Maleficent imagined she must be positively foaming at the mouth, but she no longer cared. "Know this: since the Chains of Avasina, like so many things, do not meet your rigorous standards, I've seen to it that a magical artefact has been fashioned especially for you."

Maleficent chuckled, "Do you think you and your precious invisible henchmen stand a chance against me?"

"Are you so foolish that you'll take the chance of one of my men being faster than you? Heed my offer: follow me now and fight or be dragged to your fate in Chains to die a coward."

Maleficent was silent for a moment. She took that moment to collect herself, steady her breathing, and think rationally. If this demonstration was what she hoped it was, her plan might work. In actuality, Maleficent could probably take out the dozen or so invisible bodyguards without being caught, and she could almost certainly best Sara—she doubted the woman had fought a proper duel in centuries. That, however, was not her intention and she must banish the thought from her mind.

"Very well," Maleficent replied at last, and Sara drew her wand to lead Maleficent into town.

If Sara had found Rose, she was still alive. Where Adara might have killed Rose just for fun, Sara would only kill her if it would serve some purpose. In all likelihood, the princess would be returned unharmed to the Eastern Kingdom, and if she was clever and efficient with what little magic she knew, Rose could escape on her own with relative ease. Presuming she wanted to, of course. Perhaps Rose had had enough of her mad adventure with wicked fairies and would be perfectly contented to live out the rest of her days as princess and wife of the handsome and gallant Prince Philip. Perhaps returning had been her intention all along. Maleficent would never know, for she had never asked.

If Maleficent followed her plan and succumbed easily to whatever awaited her, Sara would not have any credibility in a case against another wicked fairy. If she wanted to be rid of Kinsale, for example, she'd be on her own, and Maleficent was certain Kinsale could handle Sara easily in a fair fight. The two people Maleficent 'purported to hold dear' would be just fine without her, as they had been before they'd known her.

After a short walk, Maleficent caught a glimpse of the town square, just a short distance from the castle. Hundreds, perhaps thousands of people—most human, many fae—had gathered around a magically enclosed area where a small formation of fairies in full armour stood. Maleficent recognized them instantly as the Mountainland Fairies.

"Quite a glittering assemblage, Mistress Sara," Maleficent remarked quietly. As they drew closer, she saw in the front of the crowd a few members of the Fairy Queen's Counsel, identifiable by their bright blue robes and hats. "May I ask upon what pretense you've called them here?"

"No pretense, Maleficent," Sara replied. "They're here to witness the abilities of the one who defied the Chains of Avasina."

"Did it occur to you, Sara, that I might have escaped the Chains using nonmagical means?"

"What in Heaven's name is that supposed to mean?"

"The princess set me free of her own volition. My only crime was a persuasive argument."

Sara chuckled, "Maleficent. You really expect me to believe that the princess whom you cursed to die was persuaded to set you free by mere words?"

Maleficent smiled to herself. "Yes, it was rather far-fetched, wasn't it?"

Sara rolled her eyes and placed her wand against her throat to amplify her voice. "Attention, people of the Sea Kingdom, honoured guests of the Fairy Queen's Counsel, and honoured guests of the Mountainlands. I bring you the infamous Maleficent."

The crowd actually booed her. Maleficent almost laughed. Sara's entire scheme rested on goading Maleficent with the threat of humiliation. As if Maleficent didn't already know she was going to die one way or another. She didn't care what these humans thought of her. She could kill them all right now if she were of half a mind and Sara and her ridiculous bodyguards wouldn't be quick enough to stop her.

"Throughout her entire life, she has been nothing but an insufferable menace to society. When she was little more than a child, she murdered her sisters in cold blood and would have done the same to her mother had she not escaped and hidden herself away—not only from her own daughter, but from her entire species, good and wicked alike! This wicked woman cursed an innocent baby girl, the princess of the faraway Kingdom of the East, to die when she reached her sixteenth birthday, for no other reason than that it was what she felt like doing one sunny day. And when her plan was foiled and she was rightfully condemned to death, confined by the legendary Chains of Avasina fashioned by our friends, the Mountainland Fairies, Maleficent had one more trick up her sleeve! She had already anticipated her failure and had trained herself to resist the power of the Chains!"

The crowd had slowly turned from comical to terrifying. People began screaming and jumping, their faces contorted in bloodthirsty rage as they threw themselves against the invisible boundaries through which Maleficent was being led. As far as they were concerned, this was justice. Perhaps Maleficent had miscalculated.

"This woman is a scourge upon the Earth! If she cannot be contained by Earthly means, she must be contained by any means necessary!"

This was for the benefit of the Fairy Queen's Counsel. Maleficent reminded herself that it was their opinion which truly mattered. An angry mob of humans could hardly decide the fate of wicked fairies.

As she approached her intended place across from the formation of Mountainland Fairies, Maleficent began to tremble. She had never gone into a battle intending to lose, and she had never gone anywhere intending to die. When she'd battled Philip, she'd been convinced she was winning until she heard that fateful Sword Incantation. When she'd been imprisoned and knew she would be sentenced to death, she'd known as soon as she saw Briar Rose's face that the princess would not allow her to die.

She doubted Sara would even allow her to die in battle. Maleficent would be defeated, beaten within an inch of her life, and then placed in the new Chains fashioned especially for her until Sara could think of a fitting way to torture her to death.

"Combatants, prepare yourselves."

Maleficent couldn't remember the last time she'd felt particularly well, and yet as she imagined what the days or perhaps even weeks to come would hold for her, she tried. She swung her staff across her body in the defensive position and she tried to imagine a single moment in her life in which she had felt anything even close to happiness.

She thought of the love, however troubled, she'd felt for her sisters. She thought of the time she'd spent with Kinsale—the time wherein she'd finally begun to understand herself and before she'd no longer been able to understand Kinsale. She thought of the relative peace she'd found in her years of solitude. She thought of Briar Rose, but all she could think of was the pain she had caused her at every turn. Still, just before one of the Mountainland Fairies fired the first shot, she dared to feel tentatively hopeful.

Perhaps, she thought as she began frantically blocking their spells, she had caused Briar Rose immeasurable pain. By all accounts, she was essentially responsible for all the misery in Rose's life. Certainly she had done what she could to make up for it, but had it been too little and too late? She would not live long enough to fully apologize or make amends.

She tried to console herself—she had given Rose an escape from her unhappy circumstances and a chance to discover herself independent of the people who had been in charge of her life up until then. She'd given her magic as a means to secure the freedom she so desperately wanted.

She tried very hard to find peace in this, but she could not quite manage it. Somehow she knew her debt to Briar Rose remained unpaid.

She missed a spell and it hit her in the shoulder, paralyzing her left arm. She dropped her staff, but quickly caught it with her other hand and continued blocking. She hadn't fired a single offensive spell of her own—she hadn't had time. She knew she couldn't surrender without appearing to put up a fight, or Sara would know she was putting on an act. Still, she honestly had not prepared for this battle even though she knew it was a possibility. She had never fought as part of a group, and she had only ever fought against groups of male fairies before. They usually lacked something in form and timing of which Maleficent could take advantage.

Maleficent ceased her philosophical musings upon the worth of her life and concentrated on the task at hand. She was quickly able to determine that they were attacking in what seemed to be a predetermined pattern, albeit a long and complicated one. Once she'd ascertained the pattern, though, she was able to anticipate and block the spell of one fairy and fire at another while she was busy preparing her attack. She took down two of the Mountainland Fairies with this method—or, at least, they retreated to the sidelines to nurse their wounds. The rest caught on and changed their pattern and formation.

There were twelve Mountainland Fairies in all, and Maleficent had temporarily defeated two of them. It was likely they'd heal themselves and join back in before the end of the battle, though. Maleficent wondered how she could possibly win in this battle. She supposed she could have caught on to their pattern sooner if she hadn't been distracted, but if she were truly more powerful than the combined magic of the Mountainland Fairies—which would have been the only way she could resist the Chains of Avasina—that would have been all it took. One spell to each of them and they'd be out. Surely the Fairy Queen's Counsel had caught on by now that Maleficent was not as devastatingly powerful as Sara would have them believe.

As another unanticipated spell hit her in the knees and she fell to the ground, the fear she thought she had banished hit her again full force. She felt herself becoming hyper-alert. She jumped back onto her feet and began genuinely fighting. She couldn't win—she knew that—but the moment she gave up, she would be submitting herself to whatever fate Sara had in store for her, until death seemed like a kindness.

As she had anticipated, the two fairies she had felled had quickly healed themselves. They reentered the battleground from behind her, and fired two spells at her back which she barely felt in time to put up a shield. The rest of the fairies followed suit, arranging themselves in an erratic circle around Maleficent. Maleficent tried to drown out the roaring of the crowd and focus solely on the sounds of the spells. She had no idea whether they were still fighting in a pattern. When she had to keep whirling around at the faintest hint of a spell coming her way, she couldn't keep track of who had fired what or whether they were still taking turns at all. She knew there would come a point when they all fired on her at once, and her shield magic was already sorely depleted. Now she could physically feel the holes burned in every shield she put up, and some spells she tried to block hit her anyway.

Another spell—or more likely, several spells—hit her in the back of the knees while she was busy blocking one aimed at her heart, and she fell to the ground once more with a screech of agony. She could not even fathom getting back up—she thought her legs might be broken. Someone fired a binding spell upon her which she quickly broke, almost like a reflex, but it didn't matter. She couldn't move, and her magic was exhausted.

She wondered whether she ought to try to take her dragon form, but quickly decided against it. She doubted anyone in the crowd knew about it, and there was no sense in continuing to fight now. She'd made her point, and now she must accept her fate. Fortunately, she was in too much pain to feel particularly frightened.

She vaguely saw the image of one of the Mountainland Fairies looming over her, a wand aimed at her throat and a foot upon her chest, holding her down as though that were necessary.

"What kind of game are you playing at?" the fairy barked.

Maleficent snarled and grasped at her staff, but she was too slow and the fairy knocked it out of her reach. "Go on," said Maleficent. "Kill me. It'll be a far more merciful fate than what Sara has in store."

"Shut up!" the good fairy barked, and Maleficent felt the sting of some unidentifiable spell against the skin of her neck. "I won't hear any of your lies."

Maleficent chuckled, but the sound came out as more of a choked cough. "Lies, lies, lies—they're all I ever tell."

She felt the weight of the fairy's foot against her chest and it only made her laugh harder.

"Yes, do break my sternum, please," she said with a pleasant smile. "And drive it right into my heart while you're at it. You can't silence me with threats of pain and death, Mistress Hilda. I've nothing left to lose."

The next thing she knew, she was being dragged onto her feet…or rather, into an upright position which she could not maintain. Her legs were almost certainly broken. Her arms, one of which still hung limp and useless at her side, were forced behind her back and her wrists were Chained. She sensed immediately that these Chains were stronger than the last ones—instead of a slow, steady draining sensation, her magic was gone instantly as she heard the click of the cuffs being fastened around her wrists.

She was dragged past the jeering crowd and the stunned Fairy Queen's Counsel, past the castle courtyard and high walls to Mistress Sara's house, a castle in its own right with an outside door which led to Sara's dungeon, or rather to a series of magically locked doors. Maleficent could not think clearly enough to count them. Three? Five? Ten? Her legs were dragging behind her at odd angles, catching on each loose stone in the floor, and the repeated jolts of pain caused her vision to blur.

As soon as they entered the actual dungeon, Maleficent felt the presence and faintly heard the rustling of dozens of other people. She was deposited in a cell where she fell in a twisted heap. She scarcely had time to drag her legs out of harm's way before the door slammed shut. She vaguely noticed that her cell was adjacent to one empty cell and one cell which contained another prisoner, a dark shape hunched against the back wall about which she could determine little else. She supposed it didn't matter much.

Mistress Sara said something to her, but she couldn't hear it over the sound of blood rushing in her ears. Perhaps fate would be kind to her and she would die in this prison cell. She was bleeding quite a lot, though she hadn't really noticed it before, and she hadn't even a drop of magic in her entire body to heal her.

"What was that?" she asked.

"I said that it appears that you're not nearly as all-powerful as you like to pretend," Sara replied, sounding positively furious.

"Yes, well," Maleficent began, but she found that it was a great deal of effort to take in enough breath to speak. "I am powerful enough…for my own purposes. Whether I'm powerful enough for yours…is not my concern."

"You're a madwoman," Sara sneered. "I shall have to find a better way of dealing with you."

She and the guards who had escorted Maleficent in made a hasty exit, and the dungeon was plunged into darkness. Maleficent closed her eyes, trying to ignore the pain she felt all over her body, and eventually drifted off into a restless sleep.

* * *

Briar Rose had spent the past three and a half days in bed, usually hovering somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, always in pain.

She was permitted to occupy her old room, the one she shared with Philip, but the door was to remain locked when he was not with her. For the arduous task of containing a nearly seventeen-year-old girl, Zalia had equipped the room with a specially-enchanted lock. In addition, the doorway to the balcony was paved with stones and magically sealed, effectively rendering the space between the bottom of the door and the floor Rose's only access to daylight.

Not that Rose could reliably make her way over to the door.

The first day of her imprisonment, she'd awoken and tried to get up, but the weight upon her Chained ankles had been too much for her to bear. She'd fallen and sat alone in the middle of the floor of her bedroom until mid-afternoon when Philip had come to ask if she wanted to come to tea. He'd been understandably horrified, but after he'd carried her back to bed, for lack of anything else to do, he'd left and sent up a servant with her tea.

He returned in the evening obviously hoping to revisit the intimacy of their marriage. Rose found the idea just slightly sickening, but she acquiesced. His every touch, no matter how gentle, was impossibly painful. She felt more than once that he might snap one or more of her bones neatly in two. Fortunately, the pain distracted her from how very wrong the whole thing felt, but it wasn't overly long before Philip was snoring quietly at arm's length from her and she was left alone to contemplate her vastly altered opinion of him.

She tried to think about the way she had felt when she met Philip. At first, she could hardly remember what she'd felt like before the events of her sixteenth birthday, but she couldn't very well sleep, and perhaps a few hours past midnight, the memory began to come back to her. She'd been having a lovely day. It was her birthday, and she knew her aunts were planning some kind of surprise for her.

Rose squeezed her eyes closed—her life had been so simple in that moment.

She'd been feeling lonely, of course, but when didn't she? Her aunts still thought of her as a child who couldn't take care of herself—how was she to know that there was a reason for all of their rules about strangers? Just yesterday, they had told her that she was growing up into a young lady. Surely now that she was sixteen, her aunts would allow her to speak to someone—anyone at all!

It was so strange to think of now.

She had been in the middle of some old song or another when he'd come upon her. He'd startled her and she'd wanted to get away from him as quickly as possible. Upon further consideration, she was naturally curious to see what a stranger might be like, but her initial reaction had been to heed the advice of her aunts. They'd told her all her life that she mustn't speak to strangers because they could be dangerous. She didn't want to get into trouble with her aunts and she certainly didn't want to get into trouble she couldn't even fathom.

But the young man had persisted, and something about him had captivated her, causing curiosity to win out. And then everything became very hazy. She remembered feeling as though the boy in the woods was the center of her world, as though her entire life had led to that moment. She remembered trying to run away, to clear her head of him, and being unable to, and she remembered how the feeling had persisted—a dizzying, bubbly sort of feeling—until her aunts had told her the truth about who she was and her world, with the handsome stranger at its center, had begun to collapse.

Ever since she had awoken, she had tried very hard to recapture the feeling she'd had when she first met Philip, and she'd found it impossible to do so. The more time she spent with him, the more she couldn't help but think how ill-suited they were for one another. This was her True Love, the man who had broken her curse and saved her from a hundred years of slumber? They could barely hold a conversation! When she tried to remember their time together in the woods, she realized they hadn't spoken but a few words. He'd sung along with her little tune, they'd danced, and then she'd run away. She'd expected that they'd have a chat that night in the cottage, supervised by her aunts so that she did not feel so fearful, out alone with a stranger when her aunts didn't know where she was. She'd imagined that the powerful infatuation she felt for him must be rooted in something, and that she'd find out what that something was when she talked to him a bit more.

Rose now tried to recall a conversation she'd had with Maleficent many months ago in which she'd spoken of the magical gifts the good fairies had bestowed upon her at her christening. The mere thought of Maleficent's name caused her stomach to twist painfully as Rose realized she might never see her again.

"What if Flora hadn't given me the gift of beauty?" she'd wondered. "What would I look like?"

"Much the same, I'm sure," Maleficent had responded in her usual tone—clipped, aloof, yet unable to disguise the inherent resonance and beauty of her voice. Rose missed hearing it. She missed the way she could almost feel every word Maleficent spoke. She tried to think of what Maleficent had said next, but found that her memory was woefully limited. Maleficent's voice in her mind did not even begin do justice to the way it had sounded in reality.

"What Flora gave you," she'd said, "was a certain magical quality about your beauty which draws people to you… If you were of a mind, you could learn to use that magic to ensnare the heart of anyone you pleased. I daresay Philip has used his handsomeness to that effect."

"Did he use it on me?"

"Most likely."

Rose remembered feeling devastated. She felt as though her entire life had been a mere side effect of the magic of others. She felt victimized by it. She wanted it out of her life forever. Depressing as she knew it would be, she wanted to know exactly how little she'd be left with if her life were completely devoid of magic.

Maleficent had said something else about Philip and his magical beauty. "…after a point it would become useless on you as you share the same magic. It's doubtful you were under the influence for very long."

Only long enough to ensure that her life continued to be dictated by magic, it seemed. What if she hadn't met Philip in the woods that day? What if she'd even met some other handsome stranger who was not equipped with any magical abilities? Would she have been doomed to her cursed slumber forever simply because she hadn't been afforded the opportunity to fall under some kind of magical false love spell for the duration of the evening? Had she been saved from Maleficent's curse by a mere delusion?

For the next three and a half days, Rose did not bother to leave her bed. Philip came to her in the evenings, and they had the exact same conversation three times.

"How I have missed you, my Aurora," he whispered into her ear, his hands already roaming along the sides of her body.

"Philip…the Chains, they…they make everything hurt very badly."

"I promise I shall be gentle, my love."

"But even the gentlest touch hurts me."

"Then I shall be even gentler than that."

For the first two nights, she could not bring herself to say the word 'no' out loud. She feared it would be pointless, or it would upset him. She doubted Philip had ever heard the word in his entire life. Philip was far bigger and stronger than she, and if he were even the slightest bit forceful with her, he would likely break her.

On the third night, however, when she felt the dull ache of his hand running lightly over her breasts, she breathed, "Philip, please…stop."

To his credit, he stopped. "What is it, my love?"

"I know you're trying to be gentle," she whispered, "but…but it hurts so badly."

"I am so sorry, my Aurora—I shall try harder."

She lifted her arms, which felt impossibly heavy even though she could now clearly see the bones in her wrists, and tried to physically push Philip's hand away. Though she did not succeed, he understood her intention.

"Aurora," he said sternly. "Why are you trying to push me away?"

Rose was close to tears, which made breathing a challenge. "Philip, I've told you—I can't do this—it hurts too badly!"

"What would you have me do, Aurora?" he asked. He grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her into a sitting position, ignoring her whimper of pain. "Take off your Chains so that you might break my bones with your carelessness?"

"Phillip," she wheezed. "Philip, if you don't—stop, you'll—break every—bone in my body!"

"Aurora," he said, clearly exerting a great deal of effort to remain calm, as though she were a child who did not understand that it had misbehaved. Rose began to cry. "Do you have any idea how worried I've been?"

Rose could not respond—she could scarcely breathe.

"You've been held captive by that vile creature for almost a year, Aurora. Do you even realize how long it has been?"

Rose tried desperately to catch her breath, but this new reminder of her dreadful circumstances caused a fresh wave of misery to hit her, and she cried even harder. She missed Kinsale, who had been the first person to hold her when she cried in years. And as always, she missed Maleficent, "that vile creature" who had taught her that she was allowed not to want this, that she was allowed to think and feel whatever she wanted, and who, though she was obviously deeply uncomfortable, had done her best to comfort Rose in her moments of emotional overload.

"I have missed you terribly, my Aurora," Philip was saying.

_So what?_ Rose thought venomously. Who _cares? Aurora doesn't exist. Aurora is a delusion._

"I have missed my wife."

And that meant she had to subject herself to this? He had missed his wife, a veritable figment of his imagination, so she had to spend the next few minutes wondering whether he would accidentally snap her in two, all the while despising how physically close she must be to someone she was quickly growing to despise?

_Fine,_ she thought. _Do what you must and then leave me be_.

But that wasn't what she said. She reminded herself that Maleficent might very well have despised Rose when they first met. She must have hated the power Rose held over her. She might have wanted to scream at her, or say every horribly mean thing that came to mind until Rose felt a fraction of the pain inflicted upon Maleficent by these wretched shackles. For all Rose knew, Maleficent had never stopped despising her for the duration of their time together, and how could she blame her, really? Nevertheless, she had said what she had to say, promised what she had to promise, to get out of these very Chains. And Rose would try her best to do the same.

"I know, Philip," she said finally when she'd gained control of her breathing. "I'm so sorry."

Philip shook his head, as if to say, _What shall I do with you?_ and pushed her gently back down onto the bed. Rose already ached all over—she hardly even minded. At one point, he grasped her wrists tightly and Rose dared to murmur a quiet plea for gentleness, but it was too little and too late. She heard the snap of a bone in her wrist breaking before she felt the pain, and she bit the inside of her mouth until it bled to keep from screaming.

She passed out from the pain before Philip had finished. When she awoke sometime the next day she was alone and her wrist was still very much broken.

At this point, she exerted the necessary effort to sit up, which was very difficult without the use of her right hand, and somehow managed to get herself up onto her feet. Putting pressure on her ankles still hurt her immensely, but when compared to the shooting pain in her wrist, the pain in her ankles was bearable.

Rose shuffled over to the door to find that it was indeed locked. She rang the bell and a few minutes later, one of the servants—a middle-aged woman with blonde hair whose name was Madeleine—appeared.

"I want to speak with Mistress Fauna," she said.

"I'll send her up, Your Highness."

"Can't I just go and see her?"

Madeleine bowed her head, "Apologies, Your Highness, but you're not permitted to leave your room. Prince Philip's orders."

Rose heaved a deep sigh. She was in too much pain to feel anything other than exhaustion. When Madeleine left to retrieve Fauna, Rose dragged her feet back to her bed and sat. It still took a great deal of effort to remain upright, but she managed until she heard a knock at the door.

"Come in," she rasped.

She heard the click of a lock and then Fauna appeared. She promptly burst into tears. "Oh, Rose!" She rushed forward and grasped Rose's arms. Rose cried out and she let go and backed away.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "My wrist is broken."

"Oh, Rose…" Fauna breathed. She drew her wand. Rose held out her injured wrist and Fauna muttered a healing spell, but nothing happened. If anything, the pain worsened. Rose winced and withdrew her hand.

Fauna began to cry again, and Rose actually had to calm her down before she could speak. "The Chains," she managed at last. "No magic."

Instead, Fauna conjured a bandage and did her best to wrap Rose's wrist by hand, without using any magic. Rose wasn't certain whether it would help, but it made her feel a bit better to have the injury protected somehow. She noticed as she gazed at the bandage that she had large purple bruises all over her arms.

"I don't suppose you'd consider taking off the Chains so you can heal me," Rose murmured.

Fauna sighed tearfully and conjured a handkerchief for herself. "If I did, you'd run away."

Rose barely suppressed a grimace. "Can you blame me?"

Fauna's lower lip trembled and she shook her head.

"What would become of you if I ran away on your watch?"

Fauna shook her head again and covered her face with her handkerchief. Rose knew the answer. She'd be banished at best. At worst, she'd be burnt at the stake the way Maleficent would have been if Rose hadn't set her free.

"I'm sorry, Aunt Fauna," she said quietly, using the endearment _aunt_ for the first time since her sixteenth birthday. This caused Fauna to emerge from behind her handkerchief. "Let's talk about something else. Did you visit any exciting places when you were searching for me?"

Fauna looked at her hesitantly, and Rose patted the bed next to her. Fauna still looked like she might cry again, but she sat next to Rose nonetheless.

"We visited the Kingdom of Hill and Valley," she said quietly.

"What is Mistress Felicity like?" asked Rose.

"I…well, she…" Fauna kept glancing up at her and then looking away, but she eventually continued the conversation. "She's very intimidating. And so are most of her friends, really."

Rose tried to think of something else innocuous to ask, but anything she could possibly say was a potential for disaster. She decided to ignore the fear and attempt to have a normal conversation in spite of her abnormal circumstances, the way she had been doing for nearly a year. "What about Mistress Kinsale? How did you find her?"

Fauna didn't say anything for a long time. Eventually, she said, "Well, you know…she was very polite until Merryweather started yelling at her. I don't blame Merryweather, of course. She got very upset because she thought Mistress Kinsale knew where you were and wasn't telling us. At the same time, I don't really blame Mistress Kinsale, either. She seemed…very pleasant…for a wicked fairy."

Another moment of silence passed, and then Fauna spoke again. "How did you come to be in her house, Rose? I…we all sort of thought…Maleficent was keeping you…locked up somewhere."

Rose shook her head, suddenly feeling very melancholy. She found that she didn't want to try to explain. She was tired of lying, and the truth was apparently impossible for anyone to understand. "No," she said softly, half-consciously cradling her injured arm against her chest. "It wasn't like that at all."

"Rose," Fauna whispered tremulously. "I feel you ought to know something."

Again, Rose almost smiled, but the muscles in her face were not up to the task. "I feel I ought to know a lot of things," she replied without thinking. "I'm sorry—" she quickly amended in response to Fauna's look of something between confusion and horror. "It was meant to be a—a joke, I suppose…"

"Rose," Fauna said again, her brow furrowed in concern. She reached out a hand in comfort, but thought better of touching Rose and simply left her hand hanging in midair between them. "Maleficent has been captured."

Rose suddenly found it impossible to breathe. "What?" she choked out.

Fauna nodded, clutching her handkerchief. "I wasn't supposed to tell you, but I…I just…I felt you ought to know."

Rose clutched her stomach with her good hand and heaved a breath. "By whom?" she wheezed. "Wh-where is she?"

Fauna bit her lip for a moment before she replied. "In the Kingdom by the Sea," she said, and Rose nearly screamed.

"In the—Kingdom by—the Sea?" she cried. She had begun to hyperventilate, and she felt as though her lungs were going to explode. "M-m-mistress Sara has her? A-aunt Fauna—Aunt Fauna, please—you—you have to—understand—she, she isn't—she doesn't—"

Fauna was patting her back ineffectually, shaking her head. "Shh, Rose, it's all right."

"NO!" Rose shrieked. "No, it isn't all right, no, no, no!"

"Rose, listen to me!" Fauna cried. She jumped off of the bed and stood in front of Rose, grasping her by the shoulders. "I know it's difficult for you to believe right now, but she used you! She used you to escape and then she kidnapped you! You were her prisoner!"

"No, no, no!" Rose could not gain enough control of herself to say what she needed to say. "Aunt Fauna, no, listen to me—she didn't—"

"I know what you think," Fauna cut her off, her voice firmer and more certain than Rose had ever heard it. "I know how it feels to care for someone who can't possibly care for you, but she can't, Rose! No matter what she did, no matter what she said, it was a lie! Maleficent is the best liar I've ever met!"

"No…" Rose whispered. Her voice was almost completely gone. "No, Aunt Fauna, she…"

Fauna squeezed Rose's shoulders, "I beg of you, for your own good, forget her. Forget you ever knew her. Put all of this behind you at last. Pour all of that devotion you have in your heart into your relationship with your husband, where it belongs!"

Rose shook her head violently. "Philip," she rasped venomously, "has never treated me…with a fraction of the decency that Maleficent did. And now," she sniffled and wiped haphazardly at her face with her good hand, "she's going to be…put to death…and he's going to…come back here to me tonight…and probably break my other arm!"

"Rose, don't think that way! I'm sure Philip is trying!"

"And Maleficent is what? Rotting away in a dungeon somewhere." Rose ran her hand through her hair. An alarming chunk of it fell out easily.

"Rose, you're not making it easy—"

"Easy!" Rose screeched, her voice cracking. She shook her hands in Fauna's face—one broken and bandaged, one with a fistful of her hair. "Does this look _easy_ to you?"

"Stop this!"

"It should be me! I should be dying! Death would be a mercy compared to this!"

"Rose!" Fauna cried, shocked. "Listen to yourself!"

Rose paused and tried to regain some control of herself. She lowered her arms, letting the handful of her hair fall to the floor, and took a deep breath. "Aunt Fauna, please," she said, looking up at her aunt's terrified expression. "Maybe it is stupid of me to care for her, but I do." She felt tears streaming down her cheeks once more. "I do. I can't help it."

Fauna reached out tentatively and patted her hand. "Oh, dear…" she whispered. She looked as though she wanted to say more, but she closed her mouth and thought for another moment. "You've got to try to understand," she said at last, "there's nothing to be done for her now."

Rose let out a painful sob. "That's a lie."

"Rose!"

"There's plenty to be done. You could go there right now and set her free if you were of a mind. You could set me free and I could—"

"Rose, do you honestly believe that would be wise?"

"I don't care!"

"Heaven above," Fauna murmured. "What has she done to you?"

Rose's head snapped up to look at Fauna. "What has she _done_ to me?" she repeated.

"Rose, dear…" Fauna held up both hands, part comfort, part defense. "Rose, whatever she did to you, you must try to understand…it wasn't natural. It wasn't right. And it wasn't your fault! But you've got to—"

"Get out!" Rose shrieked, scrambling away from Fauna.

"Rose…"

"Get away from me! Get out of here!" Rose had begun to hyperventilate again. She accidentally put pressure on the hand of her broken arm and fell helplessly back against the bed.

"Rose, you've got to listen to me!"

"If you—th-think—that the only—reason I'm upset—" Rose heaved "is because she some-somehow—bewitched or…or seduced me or something," Rose shook her head. She could no longer see Fauna through the tears welling in her eyes. "I won't speak with you anymore! Get out!"

"But I—"

"GET OUT!"

Not an hour later, Flora came to see her. Flora spent the better part of the afternoon lecturing Rose on something. Duty, propriety, her 'unnatural affection' for the dangerous wicked fairy, Rose barely heard any of it. She lay despondently in a heap upon her bed cradling her bandaged wrist, wondering why no one had bothered to send for a doctor and refusing to speak to or even look at Flora.

Rose wanted to die. She did not want to live in a world where she was kept prisoner by people she despised and the people she cared about were somehow made out to be the villains. She did not want to live in a world where she was beaten and bruised and her wrist was broken, and yet she was still expected to submit to whatever it was her husband wanted of her that day.

Most of all, she did not want to live in a world without Maleficent. Even if Rose never saw her again, knowing that she was alive and well and that she simply existed somewhere in the world would have been enough reason for her to go on living this way until she was finally stripped of what little magic she possessed. Perhaps in a year, when her Chains were removed, she could have tried to locate Maleficent again, simply to find out what she was doing, to find out where she was, to know that somewhere the possibility of seeing her ever again still existed.

Then again, she supposed the possibility of seeing Maleficent had been denied her by the woman, herself, and there was really no arguing with that. What could she possibly offer someone like Maleficent? At best during her time with Maleficent, she had been nothing more than an irritating liability.

That night when Philip crawled into bed beside her, she barely even bothered to speak to him. He did not seem to mind. He didn't even ask about her bandaged wrist. She wondered what it must be like inside his head to be able to blithely overlook whatever didn't fit into his understanding of the world around him. She wondered if he attributed the injury to one of those vile wicked fairies who had held her captive for nearly a year and thought he simply hadn't noticed it before. She wondered if deep down he knew that that was not the case and so did not bother to ask for fear of hearing the truth spoken aloud. Then she wondered if he simply didn't care that much.

Perhaps this was what Fauna meant about making it easy for him. Perhaps she was meant to lay here only half-conscious and allow whoever to do whatever he pleased with her without so much as a word for as long as she lived.

Sometime the next day, Rose decided she would make her way over to the harpsichord that had been placed in the corner of the room. She sat at the bench and grabbed the first piece of music in the pile. It was an old folk song called Oh Danny Boy. Rose knew the words and the tune well—most people did. She had never read music notes before, but she doubted it would be very hard to learn.

She propped the music on the stand of the harpsichord and stared at the keyboard. Eventually, she chose a random key somewhere in the middle of the keyboard and played it, then hummed the note back to herself.

She tried to think of how the tune went based on that note, but she couldn't. She played the note again—or was it another note?—and hummed it back to herself. She sang the first word, "Oh," on her chosen pitch.

And of course she knew the next word, but she hadn't even a vague idea of what the next pitch should sound like. She tried to find the note she had hit just a second ago so that she had a point of reference from whence to find the next pitch, but she couldn't remember what it was, and after she had heard several different pitches, she could no longer remember the one she was searching for.

She knew the words. She could speak them aloud by heart. The music notes went up, and she knew that ought to mean something to her, but it didn't.

She hit the note again…or was it a different one? Had they all been the same note? Had they all been different? Had any two been the same? She couldn't remember.

For several hours, Rose kept choosing a note, singing "Oh, Da—", trying to find the note she had just hit or the one for "Da", failing, and starting over. Finally Rose placed the music back on top of the harpsichord and took up another song. "The Gallant Weaver," another tune she knew by heart.

Where Cart rins flow into the sea,  
By many a flower and shading tree,  
There lives a lad, the lad for me;  
He is a gallant weaver.

She placed the music on the stand and then looked carefully at the keyboard before she chose her starting note.

"Where…" she sang softly to herself. "Where Cart…" But no, that was the same note. She it the first note again—she was sure of it because she'd kept her finger on it. "Where Cart…where…where…where Cart rins…where…where…"

Rose threw the music to the ground and grabbed another song.

"The pale moon was…rising…the pale moon…"

She tossed this song aside and grabbed another.

"A dream is a wish….a dream…is a…a dream…"

Another.

"Oh, my love is…my love is like…oh, my love…"

And another.

"I know you, I walked…I know…I know you…I…"

And still another.

"Art thou troubled? Music….art thou…music will calm… Art thou troubled…art thou…"

_I wish it all away._

Her words sprang suddenly into her mind to mock her.

_I wish away my beauty and my voice and Merryweather's spell and your curse._

Rose began to cry. She continued to hit random keys on the harpsichord, humming them back, hoping that one might catch in her mind, that she might remember any song at all.

But she knew she wouldn't. Her musical ability was a magical gift given to her by Fauna. Without magic, she would never remember a single tune.

_There is nothing extraordinary about me that was not given to me by magic…_

…_and so I wish it all away._


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N:** Aaaah, thank you all so much for your feedback! For those of you who are worried (or who are about to be worried), the story is far from over! Again, I hope you will continue to share whatever thoughts/reactions/questions/etc. that come to mind. I'm equal parts excited and nervous about this chapter, so I would really appreciate your feedback in any form!

If you're ever on TVTropes (see you in a few hours), check out the Fic Recs for Disney Animated Canon—The Prisoner is there!

* * *

**Chapter 15 – The Horseman**

Kinsale returned home from her meeting with Joy and Zenovia to find Princess Aurora missing and all of her worldly possessions shattered into pieces.

Unfortunately, there were several possible explanations for each of these mysteries, and none seemed more obvious than the other.

Aurora could have left of her own free will to see Maleficent, she could have left of her own free will to return to the Eastern Kingdom, or she could have left of her own free will to go anywhere but squarely in the middle of the coming war. She also could have been forcibly taken by Maleficent (though Kinsale hated to think her friend capable of such a thing), forcibly taken back to the Eastern Kingdom, forcibly taken to the Sea Kingdom, or forcibly taken somewhere else to be hidden.

The shattered glass and furniture certainly lent themselves to _forcibly taken_—and away from Maleficent as the culprit, for even in the foulest of moods Maleficent found it unseemly to destroy the possessions of others—but there was always the chance that Aurora had left and then Sara's henchmen had come for Kinsale and, made furious by not finding her, left the shattered items as a fear-mongering notice that they would come again. It was not impossible that Aurora, herself, had been responsible, or at least had not objected, though that seemed the least likely of the available possibilities.

Her first instinct was to visit Maleficent, but it was very likely that she or her mail would be tracked there, and everyone involved in this whole mess needed as much time as possible without Kinsale leading Sara to Maleficent's doorstep. Joy wouldn't know anything until tomorrow, at least, and Zenovia was even more likely to be tracked than Kinsale. She supposed she could pay a visit to the Eastern or Sea Kingdoms, but each seemed likely to end in disaster, and what if Aurora had left of her free will to get away from all of this? There were certainly times Kinsale would have liked to do just that.

Kinsale waited anxiously for any news at all for several days. She divided this time between repairing her furniture and staring restlessly at the pile of invitations she and Aurora had addressed to every wicked fairy Kinsale had ever heard of. If she sent them now and her mail was tracked, then she would lose the advantage she'd been aiming for. Instead of sending a force prepared to handle only Kinsale, Sara would send a force prepared to handle however many fairies Kinsale could drum up. Sara had that kind of power. The only way to put a dent in her plans was to outmaneuver her, and Kinsale was no master schemer. Maleficent and Zenovia, in addition to impressive magical power and refined duelling technique, could outmaneuver anyone. They could win even when it seemed they had lost. Joy had an intricate knowledge of good fairy psychology and of the Fairy Queen's court. Aurora would have had the greatest element of surprise ever fathomed at her disposal.

And Kinsale? Kinsale had a modest sum of magical power and a lot of casual acquaintances. Without the powerful fairies she'd spent the better part of her life documenting, Kinsale was left feeling rather useless.

After a week of restless waiting and no news, Kinsale returned to Joy's home in the Desert Lands. She found the front door unlocked and the floor just over the threshold marked with Sara's signature blue "X." Joy had been captured.

Kinsale began to panic. What did this mean in terms of her own mystery? Nothing. Not a damned thing. She searched Joy's house, carelessly throwing things about in an effort to find anything of substance. Had Joy been able to visit Maleficent? Had Maleficent been captured along with her?

She found no evidence which would suggest or refute either of these things. The things she found that seemed out of place in one of Joy's study rooms only confused her further: a half-empty bottle of Truth Serum and a royal family's crest.

For lack of anything better to do, Kinsale sat at Joy's writing desk to examine the crest. By itself it would have simply been odd, but the crest had been magically embroidered, and the embroidery was recent and sloppy. The crest's design was that of the cross, a symbol of a Christian nation, which did not narrow down the options by very much. The emblem was some kind of bird Kinsale vaguely recognized, but more telling was the sun embroidered behind the bird. This was the emblem of the Land of the Rising Sun, the Kingdom of the East.

The only remaining mystery—and the one which seemed like it must hold the answers Kinsale needed-lay in the colours. The emblem was embroidered in gold on a green piece of fabric. The Eastern Kingdom's colours were gold on blue.

Kinsale tried to think of any possible significance of green in place of blue. The obvious answer—the skin tone of a wicked fairy—yielded no useful information. She tried to think of some significance in nature or symbolism and could think of none. Green as a crest colour mostly stood for hope or loyalty, neither of which were helpful on their own as compared to blue for pride, victory, purity, or strength. Green in nature could mean the forests or the fields between the kingdoms, but that wasn't particularly telling, either. Kinsale couldn't remember the colours of the Northern, Western, or former Southern Kingdoms, but she doubted that would be of any significance.

Finally, the answer hit her, and it seemed so glaringly obvious that she was surprised it hadn't occurred to her immediately.

"Fauna," she murmured aloud.

The middle sister, the quiet little fairy who didn't like to speak up, who seemed the most uncomfortable with her sisters' proceedings…she wore green.

And Joy believed she might help.

This didn't answer the vast majority of Kinsale's questions, but it was certainly a place to start, and a fair amount more than she'd had a moment ago.

Kinsale wasted no time in transporting herself to Felicity's doorstep. Her younger sister and obsequious yes-man, Charity, answered the door.

"Kinsale! What a…what a surprise! Let me just…fetch Felicity. Would you, ah…would you like to come in…?"

"Hello, Charity. I'm really only looking for the Eastern Good Fairies. Are they in?"

"Oh, they…haven't you heard?"

Kinsale smiled, a meticulously well-practiced alternative to rolling her eyes. "Evidently not."

"Zalia came and took them away, because she had received word of the Eastern Princess's location."

Kinsale tilted her head and cleared her throat quietly, a well-practiced alternative to cursing Zalia's name, hunting her down, and eviscerating her. "Who found her? And where?"

"She wouldn't say," Charity replied with a shrug. "Must have been wherever Maleficent was hiding, too, though, 'cause Mistress Sara held some big demonstration a few days ago to celebrate her capture."

"Maleficent's capture?"

"Mhm. "

"I see." Kinsale swallowed the lump in her throat and tried to ignore the sound of her heart beating in her ears. "And what of the Princess? Was she returned safely to the Eastern Kingdom?"

Charity nodded. "The word is that she isn't doing very well. Not surprising, but what a shame, isn't it?"

"What a shame."

"And who'd have thought Maleficent was so twisted? Did you know she killed her own sisters when she was just a kid?"

"You don't say. Listen, Charity, I don't mean to be rude, but I have other business to attend to now that the matter of the princess has been cleared up. Thank you for your time. Give Felicity my regards."

Kinsale did not wait for a response before she disappeared.

* * *

_Taken to Sea Kingdom. Your interference would be most helpful._

_J_

Fauna supposed she shouldn't be so surprised. She had gone to great lengths to seek out Joy in hopes of realigning herself in the coming war. She knew then that things weren't nearly as simple as she wanted them to be.

She fed the blackbird who carried Joy's message a few bread crumbs and then sent him on his way. The Desert Lands were quite a distance from the Eastern Kingdom—Joy had probably been captured a week ago by now.

And of course Fauna had to go and set Joy free. She owed Joy that favour no matter what else had happened in her life. That wasn't the issue at all. What Fauna dreaded was the presence of another wicked fairy Fauna knew to be kept in the Sea Kingdom, one to whom she owed nothing.

The surprising part, she supposed, was that, far more than Maleficent's presence, Fauna dreaded her absence.

Fauna knew that Rose had been taken for a fool. There was no other explanation for her addled behaviour. She didn't know how Maleficent had done it, for Maleficent had a thousand ways of accomplishing the simplest of tasks, but one way or another, Maleficent had won little Rose's allegiance…so completely that Rose raved that she should be the one to die instead. That was madness. Clearly Rose was not in her right mind where Maleficent was concerned.

Still, even as certain of this as she was, or as she wanted to be, Fauna was not certain at all that she could look Rose in the eyes if she knew for a fact that Maleficent was dead. Rose had all but begged Fauna to go and set her free, even if Fauna would not set Rose free. Fauna found this deeply unsettling.

"Fauna?"

"Oh!" Fauna exclaimed, whirling around as though she had been caught doing something she shouldn't. "Oh," she repeated, feeling suddenly rather tired. "Hello, Merryweather."

Merryweather stood awkwardly in the doorway to Fauna's room, wringing her hands.

"Did you want something?" Fauna asked.

"I…" Merryweather began, but then bit her lip and considered for another moment. "Why did you leave, Fauna?"

"King Stefan summoned one of us, and I thought—"

"No, no, no, I know what your stupid note said," Merryweather snapped, waving her hands erratically. "Why did you really leave?"

It was Fauna's turn to avert her eyes. It had been a long time since Fauna had thought of Merryweather as her baby sister—centuries had that effect, she supposed—and yet, seeing Merryweather look at her this way, as though she had committed some heinous act of betrayal (when she didn't even know the half of it), reminded Fauna keenly of the fact.

"I wasn't of any use to you or to Felicity—you know that," Fauna said quietly.

"But Fauna! You know how Flora gets! I needed you!"

"Needed me," Fauna echoed sadly. "Needed me to agree with you?"

"Well…yes!" Merryweather responded, exasperated. "If it's just me, Flora will never listen."

"And if it's just Flora, you'll never listen," said Fauna.

Merryweather looked as though she had been stricken. "I thought we were on the same side," she said after a moment.

These words made Fauna cringe. The same side of what, she wondered?

"We're all on the same side, Merryweather," she responded. "You and I _and_ Flora."

"You know what I mean," said Merryweather, sounding close to tears.

She did, and yet Merryweather's long-standing sibling rivalry with Flora seemed a rather trivial thing when compared to the myriad of other opposing Sides Fauna found herself debating. It occurred to Fauna that she had never been on anyone's side, because she had always been on everyone's side.

She found herself wondering whether Joy had any sisters, something which had never crossed her mind before. She had heard horrifying stories about wicked fairy families, and Joy had in their first meeting essentially confirmed them, saying in an offhand way that if she had misbehaved as a child her mother would have hexed her.

Far worse than thoughts of Joy were those of Maleficent. Did the looming, horned shadow with the thin, scowling face have a looming, horned, thin, scowling family somewhere? How would they feel when they learned that Maleficent had been put to death?

"I'm sorry, Merryweather," said Fauna at last. "I think it's time I'm…" she swallowed, "…on my own side…for a little while."

"What does that even mean?" Merryweather's natural defense was to snap to anger, and it was completely justified. Merryweather knew that Fauna was lying to her. "I don't know you anymore!"

"Well, that's…" Fauna could not bring herself to look at Merryweather anymore. She focused instead on summoning her travel satchel and cloak. "That's the issue, dear. I don't know myself, either."

"What is this?" Merryweather cried, growing frantic. "Where are you going now? Where are you running off to now?"

Fauna bit her lip as she finished summoning her things. "Running an errand for the King," she replied. It was a half-truth. The King wanted to ensure that Maleficent was truly burnt at the stake as Sara had promised. "I'll be back in a week or so." That was probably a lie. She doubted that Joy's request for help ended at setting her free.

Finally she gathered the courage to look into Merryweather's tear-filled eyes. "If you've already left by then, well…" she reached out and squeezed Merryweather's hand, "Take care of yourself, baby sister."

Fauna had not been to the Sea Kingdom since she was a young girl. Not so long ago, she had been looking forward to the day when she might return there, to revisit the bittersweet memories of her youth which she had left buried in the shoreline. Now she feared that any happy memories she had of the place would be forever drowned in the horror she knew awaited her.

* * *

"Maleficent."

It had been one hundred and seventeen years since she had heard that voice, and yet it drew her out of her half-slumber instantly.

"Mother," she replied before she could muster the strength to open her eyes. "What a coincidence."

She knew she'd barely be able to see anything even when she did manage to open her eyes. There were a few sconces still burning in Sara's dungeon, but they were nowhere near Maleficent's cell.

"A very favourable one for Mistress Sara, to be sure," Adara replied. Maleficent could not even fathom the idea of moving. She lay just as she had when she had fallen asleep: on her side, in a twisted heap with her broken legs at odd angles against her body. She could tell from the direction of her mother's voice that Adara was the prisoner in the cell next to hers. "You've made quite a name for yourself, Maleficent."

"Have I?" Maleficent asked idly. She noticed now that her cell was very small. Her feet were pressed against the corner of the cell and she was positive she wouldn't even be able to sit up on her knees if she tried. "It seems I've mostly only received credit for the acts of others. The murder of my sisters, for example."

"Well, that was your fault, really. If you hadn't threatened my power at such a young age, I wouldn't have had cause to kill them."

Maleficent suddenly felt ill. The statement was absurd and she knew it, and yet it took a great deal of self-control not to retch—she did not want to spend the remainder of her existence lying in her own vomit. "What a relief to learn that you've absolved yourself of blame before the hour of your death," she said instead.

"What a relief to learn that you are still an overgrown child who talks back to her mother," Adara said with a breathy little laugh. "What makes you think the good fairies are going to kill me after I've already proven so useful?"

"Tell me, Mother, what other useful information did you glean from your century underground?"

"Insolent girl," said Adara evenly. "I should have drowned you when you were a baby."

"It would have saved us both a great deal of trouble, to be sure," Maleficent replied. "Where have you been hiding all these years? Every fairy I've ever met believed you to be dead."

"Paranoid, were we?" Adara asked coyly.

"Only curious. I bested you once and I could have done it again."

"I suppose that's true. Then again, did you really want to murder your own mother? I always thought you had a heart."

Maleficent chuckled mirthlessly. "That makes you the only one."

A moment of silence passed and finally, Adara spoke again. "A decade or more after you banished me, I came upon a land where no fairies dwelled. I learned to disguise myself as a human and I lived among them until a fairy showed up and found me out."

Maleficent narrowly avoided laughing. What an absurd notion! "Humans? How dreadful."

"This coming from the deviant who found a human princess acceptable company."

"What can I say? My standards for who is permitted to save my life are relatively low."

"You know very well what I meant."

"Yes, I do. Your allegations are neither clever nor original."

"And yet, for all of your bravado, have you ever known a man's touch?"

Again, Maleficent felt the urge to vomit. Faintly, she could hear the sound of a door opening, followed by another—someone was coming to the dungeon. "Yes, as a matter of fact. And I eviscerated him for his troubles."

"My, my," said Adara, clearly enjoying herself. "You know, I am glad we could have this little chat, Maleficent. I've often wondered over the past few months whether you were indeed the depraved monster these fairies believe you to be. I admit I never expected to agree with them."

The final door creaked open and harsh sunlight streamed into the dungeon, illuminating the faces of the dozens of wicked fairies held there. Maleficent twisted her body around and squinted so that she might see her mother's face. It was bruised and beaten and a strange shade of grey. Adara did not look at her—her eyes were squeezed shut against the light. Though her eyes burned for her efforts, Maleficent turned in an attempt to catch a glimpse of the entrants.

Maleficent easily made out green skin and chains—no surprise there. Sara's goon tossed the wicked fairy into the empty cell on Maleficent's left, then turned toward Maleficent.

Maleficent's heart skipped a beat and then returned at double its usual speed. She swallowed the lump in her throat and awaited the inevitable, but the guard walked past her and opened Adara's cell instead. She could see the shadow of Adara stumbling out of the cell and onto her feet, her posture hunched, her frame no more than frightening grey skin stretched over her bones.

"Lady Adara of the Dragon Country," said the guard. She must be young—Adara was clearly powerless and yet the guard's voice betrayed her fear. "You've been sentenced to…to death without a t-trial."

"Death?" Adara shrieked. "DEATH! You can't kill me! Think of all the information you'll lose! Think of all I could tell you!"

The guard began pulling Adara toward the door by her Chains. Adara dug her heels into the floor, but the only result was that she left the dungeon on her knees.

"I will not stand for this, do you hear me? You can't get away with this! You've no idea of what I'm capable! Unhand me! Let me go at once! Let me go, or I shall…"

As each dungeon door slammed shut behind her, her words melted into unintelligible screams.

Maleficent wondered when the same sentence would befall her. When death was upon her, would she, too, be dragged to her fate screaming for mercy? Perhaps not today, but what of tomorrow? What of a week from now? Would she have already lost control of her mind by then?

* * *

Just beyond the border between the Eastern Kingdom and the Hill Kingdom, Fauna caught sight of the strangest thing she had ever seen in her lifetime: a wicked fairy on horseback.

Fauna was so taken aback that she stopped to inspect the matter at length. It was definitely a wicked fairy—her skin was greener than the grass through which her palomino steed galloped. She wore trousers and rode like a man, but her clothes had a stylish, feminine flair to them. She was rapidly approaching the place where Fauna hovered in midair, and as she drew nearer, Fauna began to think there was something very familiar about her.

Before she could wrap her mind around the idea, however, the wicked fairy slowed her horse to a trot several yards from Fauna and spoke. "What good fortune! I was hoping to find you."

Fauna blinked. She had completely lost her concentration, and she felt herself melting back into her usual non-traveling size. "Mistress Kinsale?"

"The same," Kinsale replied. "Are you traveling alone?"

Fauna nodded, dumbstruck.

"Might I suggest that you rethink your plans to charge into the Sea Kingdom alone and unarmed?"

"How did you—"

"Forgive me, dear, but there isn't really time. Joy has put her trust in the both of us—will that do for the moment?"

Again, Fauna nodded silently.

"Come with me, then, if you don't mind," said Kinsale, holding out her arm.

Fauna stared at her outstretched arm, unable to fathom what she ought to do.

Kinsale raised her eyebrows and opened her palm as if to say, _Well?_ Fauna remembered very well what had happened the last time Kinsale's friendly composure had broken. She rushed forward and grabbed onto Kinsale's arm. She felt a twisting, spinning, crushing sensation…and suddenly they were _nowhere_.

Fauna screamed. Kinsale put her free hand over Fauna's mouth. "Honestly," she muttered coldly.

Fauna began to cry. She should have known better than to get mixed up with wicked fairies. She should have known better centuries ago and she should have known better just now. She should have trusted her fellow good fairies. She should have trusted her sisters.

At the very least, she should have told Merryweather the truth. Then at least Merryweather would understand what had happened when Fauna was never heard from again.

* * *

Maleficent's eyes had quickly grown accustomed to the light. Now that the dungeon doors were closed once more, she couldn't even see the light from the distant sconces. She went to the trouble of working herself up into a sitting position and propped herself up against the back wall of her cell. Without the use of her hands, there was little she could do about the awkward angle of her legs, but she was almost accustomed to the pain at this point.

Maleficent's thoughts drifted back to how absolutely stupid she had been to rush off to the Sea Kingdom for something as base as emotional blackmail. If she had left well enough alone—if she had truly managed to steel her heart against her hatred for her mother and her pathetic love for Briar Rose—then she could have gotten everything she wanted. Her mother would still have been killed by someone else's hand, Briar Rose would still have been safe, but Maleficent would have gotten out alive. She could have faced Sara's demonstration another day, when she had prepared for it, and when she had no (or at least less) lingering unfinished business with those she would leave behind when she died.

After a moment of heavy breathing, she allowed her head to fall in the direction of the new prisoner. She decided she might as well speak. "May I ask your name?"

Maleficent heard the faint rustle of chains as she supposed the prisoner turned to face her, as well. "Maleficent?" said an incredulous voice.

"Joy," she replied softly.

"Oh, thank Hades," said Joy. Under different circumstances Maleficent would have chuckled at her use of this antiquated phrase. "I was afraid I wouldn't be able to deliver my message to you."

'What message is that?"

"Well, it was that you were being set up…"

"Who knows what would have become of me had you failed to deliver your message?" Maleficent retorted dryly. As her eyes adjusted, she found that she could make out Joy's silhouette, and the sight was strangely comforting.

Joy was not very high on the list of people Maleficent wanted to see, but in her current circumstances, that only added to her sense of relief. Maleficent felt decidedly less alone.

The shadowy figure that was Joy gave her an apologetic shrug. "I sent for help, but I doubt it will come."

"Help?" Maleficent repeated, bewildered.

"A good fairy who sort of owes me a favour," Joy explained.

"Charming."

"There's no need to be snippy. Or don't you want to know what happened to your little sweetheart?"

"What in Hell's name are you talking about?"

Joy chuckled, "Ah, yes, you've had so many sweethearts that you don't know to whom I'm referring!"

"Some time you've chosen to mock me, Joy," Maleficent muttered.

"Oh, come now. My help comes through or we're doomed. There's nothing we can do about that."

"I envy you your glib optimism. Are you going to tell me whatever it is you think I want to know or not?"

"Oh, I'm positive you want to know," Joy replied. "Sara used your precious princess as bait to bring you here—don't you want to know where she is now?"

"I assume she's safely back in the Eastern Kingdom," Maleficent replied flatly, unwilling to admit how terrified she was that this assumption was incorrect. "Sara has no further use for her."

"Ruin all my fun," Joy huffed and Maleficent inwardly breathed a sigh of relief.

"One thing does baffle me—how did Sara find her?"

"All I know is that Milla's youngest sister, Zalia, reported her to Sara," Joy replied.

"Zalia? How in Hell's name would she know about the princess?" Zalia was around Maleficent's age. She was high-strung, ill-tempered (which, coming from Maleficent, was saying something), and had never before shown any interest in climbing up in the ranks of Sara's regime.

"I don't know. She was visiting Kinsale or something."

Maleficent sighed, "I suppose it doesn't matter."

"My, but you're a downer," Joy chuckled. "You must be an excellent fuck for both Kinsale and the Eastern Princess to be so taken with you. Otherwise, I can't imagine why they'd bother."

Maleficent glowered at Joy's silhouette. "What I wouldn't give to be able to strangle you right now," she replied, feeling rather less glad for Joy's presence than she had moments earlier.

"Hmm, a bit kinky for my taste, but thanks for the offer. Is that the way you talked to Princess Aurora?"

"Do you suppose the next time a guard comes by I could request a different cell?"

"If so, I daresay you've more than had your revenge on her parents."

Maleficent groaned. "You know, I think I'd actually rather be tortured to death than listen to this."

"Oh, enough with the macabre we're-going-to-die bit. It's depressing."

"We _are_ going to die!" Maleficent half-shouted. "Do you care nothing for your life?"

Joy was silent for a moment, and Maleficent took that time to collect herself. She didn't remember the first Chains she had worn making breathing so difficult.

"No," Joy said at last. "No, not really."

The silence in the dungeon was eerie. Maleficent wondered how long the other fairies had been there, that they didn't even have the strength to move around every so often. It occurred to Maleficent that some of them might have died and been left forgotten in their cells.

"I'm sorry for all the teasing, Maleficent," Joy said after a while. "I don't know whether it's true or not, but if it were, you know…I would understand."

Another eerie silence. If Joy was waiting for Maleficent to respond, she could wait until they were burnt at matching stakes.

After a moment, though, Joy spoke once more. "You fall for this…this golden girl, this shimmering pinnacle of perfection…and it isn't that that you…that draws you in, it's…she's so much more than that. But you...you are a monster simply because you exist. That you should dare to want her is unthinkable. You must be the incarnation of all that is evil to even…to even think of sullying her perfection with…with the blemish on the face of society that is you."

For the second time in a blurry handful of days, Maleficent wanted to cry. She couldn't decide whether she hated Joy for making her want to cry or for speaking words she felt resonating in her very soul.

"But that isn't true," Joy continued, her voice a mere echo of what it was when she began. "It's taken me centuries to really, truly believe it…but we aren't monsters. We are not freakish, we are not ugly, we are not somehow inherently less than good fairies or humans, even though they've spent all of time training us to believe that we are. They're wrong. We are magnificent."

Holding back tears physically hurt, and so Maleficent simply allowed them to fall. No one could see her. The room was almost pitch-black and she and Joy might be the only ones still capable of sentient thought, anyway. "How can you say that with such confidence?" Maleficent asked Joy quietly. She hated the way her voice cracked—she feared it gave her away.

Joy chuckled, but the sound came out as a breathy cough. "It's the only way I've been able to make the last couple hundred years bearable."

Maleficent did not respond. She thought she must have fallen asleep again at some point, for she awoke to the sound of the dungeon doors opening once more. Maleficent thought she heard five doors open before she saw sunlight, but she felt at the moment that she couldn't be certain of anything. The same guard who had come for Adara-how long ago had it been? Moments? Hours?-now stopped before her cell.

"Lady Maleficent of the Three Kingdoms?" She was just as nervous as she had been before. Maleficent could not see her face, only the shadowy outline of a petite woman. Maleficent wondered how such a fairy had come by this position.

"Yes?" she responded after a moment of silence. The guard drew her wand and unlocked the cell door, and Maleficent's legs came spilling out into the dungeon floor of their own accord. Maleficent bit the inside of her cheek to avoid crying out.

"Mistress Sara wishes to deliver your punishment personally," the woman said quietly, but she sounded calmer now. Maleficent snarled at nothing. Must it be so clear, how powerless she was?

"You shall have to drag me," Maleficent said crisply. "And I mean that quite literally."

"Oh," the guard uttered. She stood immobile for what seemed a long time before grasping Maleficent by the arms and, as suggested, dragging her toward the door.

Maleficent did not scream. She did not make empty threats. She did not curse the guard's name, or Sara's, or Joy's, or Briar Rose's. She wasn't even angry or frightened. There was nothing she could do now. She had not come to the Sea Kingdom as she had intended, as part of an intricate plan, but on impulse, in response to nothing more than a forged note. Her fate had been sealed by her own short-sightedness.

At the hour of her death, Maleficent was, just as Sara wanted, humiliated.


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: **I promise there's finally some forward motion in this chapter! I got most of my extra angsting out in a one-shot called "Lover Come Back"—please take a look if you enjoy that sort of thing, especially if you're familiar with Early to Bed, as it's more or less set in that universe.

Amy Raine: No, to my knowledge, there's no fanart for this story, but if there were I would probably die of joy! *bats eyelashes at people who do that sort of thing*

**EDIT:** I left out a tiny POV chunk-whoops! Added it back in-it's second to last, between Leah and Rose.

As always, your readership and feedback are much appreciated!

**Warning:** This chapter contains discussion of suicide.

* * *

**Chapter 16 – The Queen**

Fauna was awakened by a slap across the face.

"Really, now," said Kinsale, and with the sound of her captor's voice, Fauna was fully alert.

"Was that necessary?" asked Fauna, rubbing her left cheek. "Was I really asleep for so long?"

"You weren't asleep," said Kinsale dryly. She had dropped all pretense of friendliness. "You fainted when I transported us here."

"Oh," Fauna murmured, glancing around her as she realized that seeing Kinsale galloping toward her on a horse had not been some kind of fever dream. She wasn't certain what she had been expecting when she took Kinsale's arm and they twisted away into nothingness, but the fluffy white terrain of the Sky Kingdom certainly wasn't on the list. "What…why are we here?"

"Obviously so that I can torture you to death. Isn't that why you fainted?" Kinsale grabbed Fauna by the wrist and began walking before Fauna had fully stood up. "We're going to get a meeting with the Queen."

Fauna expended most of her concentration trying not to trip over her own feet as they walked. Without a good kick start, her wings were all but useless. Kinsale's legs must be three or four times the length of hers, and she took long, determined strides. "Isn't that, ah…isn't that rather difficult?"

"Why, yes, it is."

"Oh. But…but then, how are we going to—?"

Kinsale stopped abruptly. Fauna fell flat on her backside and sank into the clouds.

"Do you know what else would be difficult, Fauna?"

Fauna shook her head.

"Breaking into Mistress Sara's dungeon."

"Oh…well, I…"

"Did you have any sort of plan to accomplish such a task?"

"I…well, no, not exactly, I just…Joy sent me a letter, and I…"

"You know, Fauna," Kinsale interrupted her, "my experience as a writer of wicked fairy biographies has not endowed me with very many skills or very much useful knowledge, but I am certain of this: people far cleverer than you have had far better reasons for wanting to break someone out of Mistress Sara's dungeon, and none of them ever succeeded."

"None of them ever…?"

Kinsale shook her head. "So, I would highly suggest you trust my expertise in this particular area of things that are difficult. I have a far more vested interest in your cause than you do, I am far more aware of what we are getting ourselves into, and I have the benefit of knowing a multitude of ways to fail at what you were hoping to blindly attempt."

She turned and continued to walk without waiting for Fauna to gather herself and follow.

Fauna had only been to the Kingdom in the Skies once, when she was a little girl. Her parents had loved vacationing in distant lands, and the Kingdom in the Skies was quite a journey for a good fairy. Fauna marveled that Kinsale had more or less waved them here in a matter of minutes, and she didn't seem tired at all.

On the contrary, she seemed thoroughly energized in the most frightening way. Fauna tried to think back to her first impression of Mistress Kinsale, when she'd visited with her sisters. Kinsale had seemed warm and welcoming, and certainly calm. She had invited them in and offered them tea, and she had tried to ask them idle questions about the Eastern Kingdom until Flora interrupted her. She'd been very nonchalant on the subject of Maleficent, and she had even tried to be helpful before Flora insulted her and Merryweather started yelling at her. Even then, there had been quite a bit of yelling before Kinsale lost her composure and threw them out, and she had done so without causing them any real harm.

Fauna wondered how much of that had been an act. All of it? Kinsale now seemed more akin to what Fauna expected from wicked fairies: sarcastic, irritable, and impatient. She hadn't seemed to be any of these things the first time they met.

"Mistress Kinsale, may I ask you a question?" said Fauna when she had finally taken flight and caught up.

"Sure."

"When my sisters and I visited you months ago…did you know where Rose was then?"

"Rose?"

"Sorry, the princess…Aurora…she…we called her Rose when she was growing up. To hide her from..."

"I see," said Kinsale. "Yes, I knew where she was."

"And…and Maleficent, too?" Fauna still felt a twinge of fear at mentioning Maleficent's name aloud.

"Maleficent, too. They were both upstairs in my library."

This gave Fauna pause. "Doing what?"

"Doing what? Waiting for you to leave, I suppose."

"No, I mean…"Fauna shook her head. "What were they doing at your house?"

"Visiting. Maleficent wanted to speak with me and she thought Aurora and I would get along."

"Get along? Get along! You sound just like Rose, making it seem as though she wasn't Maleficent's prisoner at all!"

Kinsale stopped walking again and turned around to face Fauna. "She wasn't," she said simply.

"I'm sure you think that, but you haven't seen her! Rose has gone completely mad! She treats everyone as though we're the ones keeping her prisoner, even her husband! And if she'd only realize that that's ludicrous, I'm sure Zalia would allow us to take off the chains and –"

"_What_?"

Fauna pursed her lips and stood in silence, staring defiantly back into Kinsale's eyes. Kinsale approached her slowly and deliberately as she spoke once more.

"Take off the chains?" she asked, her lip curling. "Or the _Chains?_"

"We had no other choice," Fauna said, trying not to tremble visibly. "She was bewitched. She would have killed us all. She might have killed her husband without even meaning to."

Kinsale let out a barking, mirthless laugh. "Yes, well, it's a good thing that horrible human girl didn't get her hands on you!" she said venomously. Fauna backed away, but Kinsale was too quick for her. She caught Fauna by the wrist and held it so tightly Fauna thought it might break. "I swear on my mother's grave, Mistress Fauna," she whispered, a breath away from Fauna's face, "if any ill has befallen the princess by the time we arrive to set her free, I will see to it that you suffer a most gruesome death."

There were a multitude of things Fauna wanted to say in response, but her fear silenced her. Set her free? To be set free was the last thing Rose needed. If she were set free, she would slip back into the delusional mindset of the angry sorceress who had been dragged into King Stefan's court in chains. Fauna and the King and Queen and Philip would lose their little Rose forever. How could Kinsale, a wicked fairy, possibly understand that?

Nonetheless, they had nearly reached the entrance to the castle. As they approached, reverberating from all directions, there came a female voice with the cry of "WHO GOES THERE?"

"Mistress Kinsale of the Valley and Mistress Fauna of the Eastern Kingdom," Kinsale replied without a trace of the malice her voice had contained moments ago.

"WHAT BUSINESS DO YOU HAVE HERE?" The woman's tone was not necessarily confrontational, but it was so loud that Fauna's ears hurt.

"We're here on behalf of Mistress Joy of the Southern Desert. She wrote requesting a meeting, but she's been detained."

Fauna's haze of unpleasant thoughts were somewhat sidetracked by this new information. Why had Joy sought a meeting with the Fairy Queen? Could people just do that? Were wicked fairies more privy to meetings with royalty than good fairies? That seemed unlikely.

"VERY WELL," the voice replied, and the gate began to open.

"Just like that?" Fauna breathed.

"Joy served as personal counsel to the Fairy Queen for many years," Kinsale told her as they entered.

"She _what?_ A wicked fairy served as Queen's Counsel?"

Kinsale took a deep and very audible breath. "And wonder of wonders, the world did not end," she said crisply.

The doors to the castle opened before they had even reached the steps, and from behind them appeared two muscular good fairies in heavy armour. They watched intently as Kinsale and Fauna climbed the stairs, nodded politely, and walked past them.

The current Counselor was a very young and very pretty good fairy called Olympia. To Fauna's immense discomfort, Counselor Olympia took instantly to Kinsale's veneer of friendliness and barely questioned her presence here in te Fairy Queen's castle at all. Fauna began wringing her hands and wondering what exactly she had gotten herself into. Was this her reward for trying to repay a favour to a wicked fairy? Was her fate sealed the moment she engaged in conversation with Mistress Joy nearly five centuries ago?

As the doors to the Fairy Queen's chamber parted, Fauna began to tremble. If the Fairy Queen believed in Kinsale's act, she was doomed. Indeed, the world was doomed. And it would be largely Fauna's fault.

Queen Titania sat upon a throne remarkably similar in design to the one Fauna remembered from Kinsale's home—topped with the head of a roaring lion whose mane seemed to be fluttering in a nonexistent breeze. She must be nearly a thousand years old, and yet there was not a wrinkle on her face. She was impossibly beautiful. Her skin was the colour of chocolate, her hair, eyes, and wings were the colour of ambers, and they shone as though forever kissed by sunlight. She wore a flowing gown of midnight blue far more becoming than the blue of her council's robes and she was decked from head to toe in golden jewelry.

Kinsale and Fauna approached her, stopped at the appointed distance, and curtseyed.

"Mistress Kinsale of the Valley and Mistress Fauna of the Eastern Kingdom," said the Queen.

"Yes, Your Majesty," Kinsale replied, head bowed.

"Mistress Fauna, you look at me with surprise," said the Queen.

"F-f-forgive me, Your M-majesty," said Fauna. "I-it's only, I've n-never…never…"

"I know the name and face of every fairy in every known land, Mistress Fauna," said the Queen. "One of those things you learn after a millennium of practice. Mistress Kinsale, I am told you come in place of Mistress Joy. Pray tell, what has detained her? Is she unwell?"

"I'm not certain what's become of her, Your Majesty. I spoke with her about a week ago and she mentioned that she had written you. Since I hadn't heard anything from her, I paid her a visit to make sure she was all right, and I found a blue X over the threshold."

"I see," the Queen replied. "Why do you suppose Sara would have Joy arrested?"

Kinsale took a deep breath before she spoke. "It's been my suspicion for many years now that if Sara could wipe all wicked fairies from existence, she would do it. I believe that now…she thinks she can. She has grown very powerful. People—humans and fairies alike—worship her like some kind of god. I believe she plans to wage a war against my entire species, and that capturing Joy is a means of gathering information while simultaneously fear mongering."

Queen Titania nodded silently. "That is a heavy accusation."

"Perhaps," said Kinsale. She suddenly seemed nervous, and Fauna tried to swallow the lump forming in her throat. Perhaps Kinsale's nerves would give her away and Fauna might escape this dreadful situation alive.

"But how many times is she going to get away with these crusades against my people?" Kinsale continued. "Cordelia was completely understandable, Acacia was obviously controversial, but Joy?"

"I see your point. I shall certainly see to Joy's release immediately. But Mistress Kinsale, that does not sound like a crusade against your species to me."

Kinsale clenched her fists. "Forgive me, Your Majesty, but only a few days ago, Mistress Sara called for the death of another fairy whom I love dearly, one who certainly did not deserve such a harsh punishment."

The Queen studied Kinsale for a moment. At last, she replied, "It's my understanding that Maleficent was in violation of human law."

Fauna's jaw nearly dropped.

"If you're referring to the curse, Maleficent made a bad decision in a fit of temper, but in the end, she didn't hurt anyone but herself, so I don't see how it's relevant any longer. If you're referring to the alleged kidnapping of the princess, that was an enormous misunderstanding. The princess went with Maleficent of her own free will," Kinsale was rambling, and Fauna could see her hands shaking. Was it truly possible for a wicked fairy to care so much for another wicked fairy, that she would weave such lies about her guilt?

Queen Titania stood, and Kinsale bowed her head in a show of submission. "Mistress Kinsale, I am sorry for your loss. I shall see to the release of Mistress Joy immediately, and I shall forward your complaint to Sara regarding her hasty imprisonment of what seems to be an innocent wicked fairy."

Kinsale looked up, and Fauna was surprised to see her dark eyes shining with unshed tears. "Thank you, Your Majesty," she said tremulously. "Thank you. I cannot thank you—"

"However," said the Queen, holding out her hand for silence, "there is of course nothing I can do for Maleficent, and I shall not take any action against Sara in her name. Perhaps Sara acted rashly—indeed, she wasted a great deal of my Council's time on the matter—but she did so in the name of the humans she cherishes, and for that I commend her."

Fauna glanced back to Kinsale, whose eyes were now wide in shock, and she suddenly felt more conflicted than ever before, something she hadn't thought possible. Was there even a good side to be on in this conflict? Fauna admired Mistress Sara, but her disciples, such as Felicity and Zalia, seemed cruel and militaristic. Fauna was grateful to Mistress Joy, but Mistress Kinsale had just threatened her life, and she had come to believe that Maleficent might truly have deserved death for her crimes. The Fairy Queen was essentially siding with Mistress Sara. Did that make her one of Sara's disciples, or did that make her a good judge of character?

Fauna narrowly avoided shaking her head to try to clear her thoughts, for she knew she must be under close scrutiny.

After a long and eerie silence, Kinsale nodded. "Thank you, Your Majesty. I understand." She did not look as though she understood. She looked lost and frightened, the way Fauna felt.

* * *

Queen Leah knocked on Aurora's door three separate times before she decided to come in without an invitation. She opened the door slowly and glanced nervously around the room. Aurora lay at an awkward angle on top of the covers of her bed, snoring lightly.

Leah approached on tiptoe, then she gasped and stumbled backward in horror. Aurora did not stir.

Far more cautiously than before, Leah leaned in to inspect Aurora more closely. Her face was mostly obscured by limp, greasy hair, but Leah could plainly see a deep circle almost like a bruise beneath her eye. Leah could clearly see the outline of every bone in Aurora's body, her arms were covered in actual bruises in the shape of handprints, and her right wrist and hand were in a sloppy, makeshift cast.

At a loss for what to do, Leah, tried to gently push Aurora's legs into a more natural position, but this caused Aurora to stir from her slumber, and Leah jumped back as if her hands had been burned.

Aurora blinked dull, bleary eyes and tried to move her hair out of her face without using her hand. She eventually flopped over onto her back so she could use her other arm. Leah began wringing her hands, caught herself, and quickly clasped her hands behind her back before Aurora had stopped awkwardly twisting about.

Now flat on her back, Aurora gazed at the hand that had just tried to brush away the hair from her face. Several strands of her hair had fallen easily into her hand and she inspected them calmly, as though they belonged to someone else.

"Aurora," Leah breathed softly. "What has become of you?"

Aurora twitched, as though she had forgotten Leah was there, and at last looked at her directly. "The Chains," she replied, her voice raspy, stripped of its usual beauty. "Without magic in my veins, I am weak. Everything…" she paused to take a few deep breaths, "…about me is weak. My bones, my skin, my hair… I fear my heart…has also grown weak, for I don't think I can bear this torment much longer."

Leah bit her lip, a most unbecoming mannerism for a queen, and clasped her hands together tighter to keep from fidgeting. "Is…is there anything I can do?"

A sickly, sad smile twisted across Aurora's features, and a chill ran down Leah's spine at the sight.

"You could take off the Chains," she responded with a little chuckle. "See, it's funny because," she laughed again, a breathy, coughing sort of sound, and then had to pause to take a few more deep breaths. "It's funny because now…I understand how Maleficent felt when I met her!"

Leah tried to swallow the lump in her throat. "How is that?"

"Desperate!" she wheezed, still smiling. "I would do anything to get these things off! You know…you know…why even, why even stop at when I met her! I understand…the past year of my life now! If someone took these Chains off of me, I would do whatever they wanted! If Philip took…took these Chains off, I might actually love him again!" Aurora broke off into a fit of hysterical laughter, which ended in a fit of violent coughing, and she thrashed so that she faced away from Leah and curled herself into a ball until she had calmed herself.

"Aurora…" Leah said again after a moment of silence.

Aurora did not turn around, but when she spoke, she sounded much calmer. "The Good Fairies called me Briar Rose. Did they tell you that?"

"They…no…"

"All my life, I was called Briar Rose. It…it almost physically hurt me when Philip and everyone kept calling me Aurora."

Leah swallowed again. She couldn't think of a response, so she waited to see if Aurora would keep talking.

"I didn't mind so much when Kinsale called me Aurora. I don't know why I didn't just tell her to call me Rose. She would have. But I didn't. Isn't that odd?"

Leah squeezed her eyes closed in an attempt to process what Aurora was saying to her. Kinsale was the evil fairy from the other land where Aurora had been found. Aurora must think Kinsale was her friend the way she thought Maleficent was her friend.

"Malefient called me Briar Rose. The whole thing, seldom just Rose. It sort of fits with her character, though. She can't do anything the easy way."

What caused Leah's heart to wrench painfully in her chest, she supposed, was the warmth with which Aurora spoke of the evil fairy who had been the cause of all of their troubles. It was so horribly tragic, that the only people her beloved daughter seemed to be fond of were the evil fairies who had been her captors.

Leah cringed at the thought of what would happen if Aurora were to find out that Maleficent had been sentenced to death in the faraway Kingdom by the Sea, and that there was no doubt Kinsale's death sentence would soon follow. Of course their deaths were justified, but try telling that to this sad creature before her!

"What happened to your arm?" Leah asked, trying to regain control of herself.

"Philip broke it," Aurora replied flatly. "He didn't mean to, I suppose, but he could have just stopped when I asked him to."

Leah had begun fidgeting with abandon. She supposed no one could see her now. "Why didn't you send for a doctor?"

"I haven't been able to get out of bed for awhile. Fauna couldn't help with her magic, so she gave me this bandage. Flora came by, but it was only to yell at me."

"Yell at you?" Leah repeated, and suddenly her intense discomfort became something more akin to anger. "For what?"

Aurora was silent for several minutes.

"Aurora, why did Flora yell at you?"

Another long silence. Leah folded her arms.

"Aurora—"

But she was cut off by the sound of a strangled sob.

Leah approached tentatively and sat on the edge of the bed. She reached out and placed a hand gently on Aurora's shoulder, but Aurora violently shrugged it away.

Leah sat by her weeping daughter in silence for what seemed like forever, unable to do anything and unable to think of anything to say. After some time, Aurora calmed herself down and spoke once more, her voice like an echo of an echo. "May I ask you a question?"

"Of course," Leah replied perhaps a bit too quickly.

"Are you in love with the king?"

Leah knew she ought to reprimand Aurora for speaking of her father as 'the king.' They had been given strict instructions by Zalia not to be lenient with her when she misremembered things or misunderstood her circumstances, for Zalia believed this would only enable Aurora's delusions. However, this was the most that she and her daughter had ever spoken. Leah knew it was self-serving and probably very harmful to go along with what Aurora was saying, but at the very least, it might keep her from grouping Leah with the other people in her life for whom she seemed to have no love at the moment.

"Yes, I am," she replied at last.

"Were you always in love with him? Did you love him from the moment you met him?"

Leah bit her lip for a moment before she answered truthfully. "No, I wasn't. I…I didn't, I…" she swallowed again. "I learned to love him. Because he was kind to me—much kinder than I deserved. Because he is a good man."

"Did you ever love anyone else before him?" Aurora asked after a moment.

"No," Leah replied. "I felt desire, of course, maybe a dozen or more different times. But I never mistook that for love."

"So…" said Aurora. "Do you mean to say that love feels different? That you know when you're in love from when you're not?"

"I…" Leah frowned. She wasn't quite certain where this conversation was going. Was this related to the comment she'd made about not being in love with Philip? "I don't know, Aurora. I imagine it's different for everyone. Why do you ask?"

"I'm sorry—I know I'm being awfully rude," Aurora replied sadly. "I've just spent the past who-knows-how-many days being told what to think and how to feel…and that what I do think and feel without being told is wrong, and I…" she let out a long, shuddering sigh, "I'm trying to sort it out, that's all."

"You know, Aurora," said Leah carefully. "You are rather lucky."

To Leah's surprise, Aurora laughed. "How is that?"

"Well," said Leah as she began fidgeting with her hands again, "not everyone meets her True Love at exactly the right time the way that you did. Perhaps someday I'll meet my True Love or Stefan will meet his, but it won't matter. It will be nothing more than a curiosity."

Aurora twisted herself about so that she lay on her back, cradling her injured arm and looking up at Leah. "Truly? You'll feel no sadness? You won't be plagued by thoughts of what might have been?"

Leah averted her eyes. "I don't know, perhaps," she replied. "But what good does it do to dwell on what might have been when it won't be?"

"None, I suppose," Aurora replied quietly.

Leah turned to look at Aurora once more and dared again to reach out to her. Aurora winced when Leah touched her forehead, but she did not move away.

"You're safe now, Aurora," said Leah gently.

"I don't feel safe," said Aurora.

"But you are," Leah replied. "And in a few short months when these dreadful Chains come off, you'll be as good as new. Everything can go back to the way it was. The way it should have been."

"I suppose that is what's going to happen, isn't it?" said Aurora, but what remained of her voice was still tinged with sadness.

"Yes, it is," Leah reassured her.

Aurora was silent for a moment. Her eyes were closed and her breathing was even, and Leah wondered if she might have fallen asleep until she spoke again. "Thank you for coming to see me. I've been very lonely."

Leah smiled and her heart leapt. "I would have liked to come sooner, but Stefan is so busy with the merger and all…I'll try to visit more often."

"All right."

Leah stood with one last pat to her daughters head. She untucked the bedclothes and covered Aurora up snugly before she made to leave.

"Maybe someday you can play something on the harpsichord for me," she said over her shoulder, feeling almost cheerful.

Aurora did not answer, and Leah decided she must have fallen asleep. "Sweet dreams, my daughter," she said before she closed the door.

She did not see Aurora flailing and thrashing until she got the painful, heavy blankets off of her, and she was already long gone by the time Aurora began to cry once more.

* * *

Joy had completely lost track of time. The dungeon doors opened often, but only when it was bright outside. She slept most of the time, but the noise of five or more doors opening plus the blinding light always woke her. Supposing that the times in between when she felt she'd gotten the most sleep were nights, she'd been here for six or more.

She was not an especially powerful fairy, and the Chains rendered her all the weaker for this. She had fallen asleep shortly after Maleficent had been taken away, presumably to her death. Just now, she had awoken to the sound of a new prisoner being deposited in Maleficent's cell. While she and Maleficent had not been close friends by any stretch of the imagination, Joy still felt an overwhelming wave of sadness wash over her at the sight.

Joy could not make out much about the new prisoner. She caught a glimpse of green skin—no surprise there. The wicked fairy was dragged in by two guards and thrown into Maleficent's cell in a jumbled heap of bony limbs. When the dungeon doors had closed and the room fell dark and silent once more, Joy noticed that the new prisoner was weeping quietly, her voice a dull, raspy thing. Joy turned herself away and tried to block out the sound, but it haunted her dreams.

Later on, the dungeon doors opened, but no light followed the sound. Joy blinked several times to ascertain that she wasn't going blind or still dreaming, but she felt very much awake and yet she could see nothing. She heard footsteps approaching, and then suddenly her cell door flew open.

"I ought to have known you'd be ancient enough to have duped a good fairy or two," said the high, clear voice of Mistress Sara.

Joy's heart sank. She supposed, deep inside, she might have been hoping for someone else. "What are you talking about?"

"The Fairy Queen is approaching. I can't decide whether or not I want to kill you. You have so much information that I want, and yet…is it really worth the trouble?"

"Hold on," Joy tried blinking again, but she could only make out the faintest outline of Mistress Sara through the darkness. "What makes you think I'm responsible for a visit from the Fairy Queen? That seems like a pretty wide leap of reasoning. I've been out of office for centuries."

"Nevermind my reasoning," Sara snapped. "The Fairy Queen never visits unless something is reported directly to her, and I don't see anyone else in this dungeon who's still holding out hope for a rescue mission."

Joy shivered involuntarily. She had in her waking hours been trying to decide whether any of the other prisoners—aside from her weeping neighbour—were still alive. "You overestimate me, Sara. I don't give a damn whether I live or die."

"Nonsense!" said Sara, and Joy could hear the snarl in her voice. "Every wicked fairy I've ever encountered has only cared about one thing: survival. Which will make it all the more satisfying when you finally beg me for death."

Joy faintly heard the whirring sound of a flying spell an instant before it hit her squarely in the face. Suddenly the blackness of the dungeon was obscured by flames, and Joy could hear nothing but screaming. Several minutes passed before she realized that the screaming was her own.

* * *

Briar Rose had spent the past several days deciding how she was going to kill herself.

As she had told Queen Leah, she simply could not bear this any longer. She wasn't certain exactly when her thoughts had turned from anguish to serene certainty, but now that she had made a decision, it seemed very clear to her that it was the only option. Even if Rose were to lie here for another year and gain her freedom, what would await her? She had lost her ability to make music, she no longer loved, nor could she even tolerate her husband, and she would never see the people for whom she truly cared again.

She would not be permitted to see Kinsale again, assuming Kinsale had not also met some wretched fate for protecting her. She wanted to believe that Kinsale would be all right, that she was more than capable of defending herself, and yet she'd believed the same of Maleficent ten times over…

Maleficent was dead. Every time she tried to wrap her mind around this simple phrase, she felt a twisting, billowing wave of pain crashing over her entire body, and her thoughts began to spin out of control. But she knew it must be true. Maleficent had made it very clear that to go to the Sea Kingdom would spell death for her, and though Fauna had spent sixteen years withholding the truth from her, Rose knew she would not be able to actively lie without giving herself away.

Maleficent was dead. And something inside of Rose had died along with her.

Her first idea was to beat her head against the wall, but she figured she was too weak for that, and she'd only pass out before she'd done any real damage. The next idea came to her while she was in the bath tub, but she quickly ruled this out. It was usually Madeleine's unfortunate obligation to help her in and out of the tub, and Rose didn't want her death to be blamed upon someone so completely innocent.

One night, after Philip had fallen asleep, she tried to smother herself with one of her pillows. Would that her death might be blamed on him! But alas, she merely lost consciousness, and when she awoke an indeterminate amount of time later, the pillow had been replaced beneath her head, and she felt no better or worse than usual.

Finally, one afternoon when she was feeling well enough to sit up in bed, she saw the answer to her troubles. Philip came to visit her, mercifully accompanied by a maid bearing a tea tray. Philip, having evidently found a half hour or less of conversation with Briar Rose too daunting a task, had brought his mail along with him.

Rose had spent the rest of their brief time together openly gaping at the letter opener in his hands, and she had nearly squealed with glee when he left it behind on the table. Before the serving maid could clear away his discarded envelopes and other wrappings, Rose quickly grabbed the letter opener and hid it in the fabric of her dress. When they had left her alone, she deposited it in the drawer by her bedside table, for she felt at the moment that she would much prefer to take a nap than to bleed to death.

She was awakened by Queen Leah, who only served to remind her how very, very alone she was. Aurora did not bear any ill will toward her birth mother, but it was easy to see that she felt the same way Fauna and everyone else did: that Rose was completely mad and must be treated with extreme caution. And being treated that way by everyone, including her birth mother and the women who had raised her as their own, made Rose feel like it might be true.

When the Queen left, apparently under the impression that her words of intended comfort had been helpful and not the ridiculous lie already spewed to her by her non-aunts, Rose felt more than prepared to depart from this world. She twisted and thrashed until the blanket fell away from her shoulders and she could breathe once more. Even the lightest sheet on her bed felt like a cumbersome weight upon her skin.

Rose pushed herself up into a sitting position, clutching her stomach as she felt the urge to retch, and sat still with her forehead against the wall until the world stopped spinning. She crawled over to her bedside table and retrieved the letter opener, and she tried to think of something peaceful to hold onto in her last moments of life.

She thought of her childhood, when she had been happy and blithely innocent of what was in store for her, but this brought only bitter tears of resentment for her aunts, whom she had loved so dearly and who had, evidently, thought of her as nothing more than a sixteen year-long diversion.

She thought of the moment she had turned around and caught sight of Philip, and the bubbly, overwhelming desire she had felt for him. She thought of the way her universe had seemed to center itself suddenly around him and the way she had believed that her entire life had led her to that moment. But this memory only caused Rose to want to vomit again, and she pushed it from her mind as quickly as possible. Philip was nothing more than an illusion—a handsome and charming illusion, to be sure, but one of many lies Briar Rose had wanted so desperately to believe on that day.

_And I know it's true that visions are seldom all they seem…_

She thought of the time she had spent with Maleficent, but even the thought of her name made Rose's heart ache. Perhaps their time together had been brief. Perhaps her _unnatural affection_ had been very, very one-sided. She hadn't precisely been happy, but happiness had seemed like a possibility, like it was within her grasp. More than anything, she had felt like herself, like what was happening—bizarre though it was—was real.

Maleficent was an enigma. She was intimidating, often to the point of being frightening, and Rose always felt like she was saying and doing all the wrong things. But Maleficent had told her something marvelous: there was no need to apologize for what she felt and thought. This made Maleficent the first and only person who did not want Briar Rose to be anyone or anything other than the full realization of who and what she was. Perhaps it was merely because she did not care. But what Rose meant to Maleficent was now largely irrelevant. Maleficent had meant the world to Rose.

Rose held the letter opener awkwardly in her left hand and inspected the veins which crept out from beneath the bandage on her right wrist. It occurred to her suddenly that the Queen had asked about her injury, but by the end of the conversation had completely forgotten about it. Was everyone in this castle so desperate to believe in this strange, twisted reality of theirs that they could overlook something so obvious as a physical wound?

Rose doubted it would be difficult to kill herself by excessive bleeding—she was so weak already—and yet, if she failed, her life would become even more miserable than it was, a feat which seemed so impossible as to be frightening.

Indeed, though Briar Rose barely touched letter opener against her flesh, the skin gave almost instantly and blood came gushing to the surface. She watched with a sort of numb curiosity as it overflowed from the small wound and began to trickle down her arm. The pain was as nothing to what she felt on a daily basis and there were far more nauseous thoughts than this, the sight of her life draining out of her. In fact, she dared to feel just the slightest bit relieved. Perhaps her suffering would at last come to an end.

She drew the blade of the letter opener further down the blue line of the vein in her arm and breathed a sigh as it blossomed into bright red, seeming to glow against the sallowness of her skin. Suddenly, a multitude of things happened at once.

Rose began to feel extremely dizzy and fell to the side, dropping the bloodstained letter opener onto the floor and bumping her head against the wall.

Philip burst through the door humming a merry tune and greeted Aurora with jovial surprise. "You're sitting up today, my love!" he said, only to amend when he noticed the state of her right arm, "By God!"

Perhaps most surprising of all, so much so that Rose struggled to keep her eyes open in order to inspect it further, was that the wall of stone which had been built into the door to her balcony suddenly exploded, flooding the room with sunlight which caused Rose's eyes to burn. She blinked away the tears furiously and fought against the fogginess of her mind as her thoughts slowly spun away from her.

"Hello, _Rose_," said a familiar voice.


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N:** I accidentally left one chunk out of the last chapter, and it wouldn't really fit in this one. I added it like yesterday, so if you didn't read it and you care, it's pretty short and second to last, between Leah and Rose. Haha—I just had this thought yesterday that I could have posted each POV change as a separate chapter. If I had, we'd be in the 40s by now—would anyone still be reading this nonsense?

There's a little bit of a time jump which will eventually be clarified. I hope it's not too confusing. Though I normally prefer to present events in order, I thought it was high time for some relief from the angst! As always, your readership and feedback are much appreciated! I hope you'll continue to share your thoughts!

* * *

**Chapter 17 – The Sanctuary  
**

"Take off her Chains," Rose vaguely heard Kinsale bark.

Someone mumbled something in response.

"I'm sorry, did that sound like a question?"

The second voice let out a muffled groan and suddenly Rose felt a wave of immense relief, both physical and mental, as the Chains of Avasina were unclasped from her ankles.

"My, you've done a bit of a number on yourself," Kinsale said to Rose, taking her bandaged hand. "I'm not much with healing spells, but Mistress Fauna is a bit tied up at the moment…"

Rose felt the familiar tingle of magic trickling through her veins, specifically the vein of her right arm, and she found after a moment that she was able to open her eyes.

Kinsale stood above her, looking a bit worse for wear. Her hair, normally fixed atop her head in some intricate style, fell in wild curls about her face, which was covered in dirt and possibly blood. She smiled the same frighteningly perfect smile, though, and Rose found it in her to smile in return. "Thank you," she breathed.

"Don't thank me yet," Kinsale replied with a strange look about her as she helped Rose to sit up.

Philip stood just inside the doorway, frozen in a running position, mouth still agape in his cry of surprise. Fauna stood a few feet away from Kinsale, hands tied and with some kind of gag fixed over her mouth. Rose turned a wide, questioning gaze upon Kinsale, who shrugged sheepishly.

"Desperate times, desperate measures, you know," she said.

"What happened?" Rose asked.

"Oh," said Kinsale, her voice wavering, "all kinds of things. I'm afraid I'm putting you in a bit of a difficult position, but when I found out you had been Chained, I… Well," she shook her head, "you're in terrible danger whether you stay here or come with me, so I thought you might prefer to have access to your magic."

Rose half-laughed, half-sobbed. "You have no idea."

Kinsale's expression brightened somewhat. "Off we go, then?"

Rose glanced uncomfortably at Philip and Fauna. "What about them?"

Kinsale followed her gaze. "Well, I needed Fauna to set you free and she was being, ah…difficult," she chuckled, and Rose shivered involuntarily. That sort of dark humour was uncharacteristic of Kinsale; however, it was very characteristic of… Rose clutched her heart and pushed this thought as far away as possible.

Kinsale continued, "As for…I take it this is Prince Philip of the North? I suppose that's up to you."

_I suppose that's up to you._

The words echoed over and over in her head, drowning out the other mess of hazy, swirling thoughts that made little sense to her. She stood on shaky legs, grasping Kinsale's arm for support, and approached the frozen figure of Philip. She tilted her head and considered him. His eyes were the only thing about him capable of movement. They glittered with what Rose was surprised to identify as fear, and they blinked furiously, as though he were trying to communicate a message.

_I'm awfully sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you!_

_Oh, it…wasn't that… It's just that you're a…_

_A stranger?_

_Mhm._

_But don't you remember? We've met before!_

_We…we have?_

_Why, of course—you said so yourself! Once upon a dream!_

Rose realized now that Philip had always been at an enormous advantage over her, even then. He had probably tried to woo countless girls before her, girls who were far more aware of the pretty lies men would weave to beguile them, where Rose had at the time never spoken a single word to anyone but her aunts. In truth, she had been frightened of him even as she had been entranced. If she were being completely honest, she had not run away sooner because she had been afraid he might chase after her and overpower her. She had been taught all of her life that strangers could be dangerous, and she had no reason to doubt anything her dear aunts told her.

When she had awoken and so quickly become his wife, he had gained even more ground. Not only was she bound by law to acquiesce to the will of her husband, she felt tremendously indebted to him for saving her life. He had fought…she swallowed and tried to rephrase this part in her head…he had fought a fearsome dragon to save her, a magical dragon two or three times as large as any normal dragon could ever hope to be, and he had awoken her from her cursed sleep. When she could not bring herself to feel the same way she had about the handsome stranger she'd met in the woods, she blamed herself and felt incredibly guilty for the way she felt, or rather, did not feel. For this reason, Philip could have asked anything of her and she would have been unable to say no, for she felt at the time that she owed everything to him.

Since then, she had come to learn that it was very likely she was never in danger of actually dying. The sorceress-turned-dragon who had cursed her had turned out to be nothing more or less than a very troubled and profoundly lonely woman with a nasty temper. In the end, she would have avoided killing Briar Rose if she perceived it as possible in any way, and the curse would not have lasted forever.

Unfortunately, the next time Philip regained power over Briar Rose, it was obvious and absolute. Rose was no longer imprisoned in the confines of her own mind, with her innocence and guilty gratefulness as her only shackles, but a literal prisoner, kept in Chains in a locked room in what was meant to be her own home.

And this was where Philip had shown his true colours. Endowed with absolute power over Briar Rose, he had treated her as, she realized, he had always seen her: his possession. She was his most treasured possession, one for which he had fought bravely, and for this reason he felt entitled to do with her as he pleased. And she was left physically unable to resist.

Now, probably for the first time in his life, Philip was the one who was powerless. And for the first time in Briar Rose's life, she possessed the absolute power to do whatever she pleased. A frightening surge of rage flooded through her as she ruminated upon all of Philip's wrongs against her, and she realized that she could kill him, or take him along as her prisoner and torture him as he had tortured her, and Kinsale would not only allow it, she would not care. She was a wicked fairy—she had seen and perhaps even done worse.

_And I know it's true that visions are seldom all they seem…_

Rose shook her head sadly and she reached up to touch Philip's cheek. Philip had given her an afternoon of absolute bliss, one she desperately clung to in the miserable evening that followed. Even though she knew it was the magic he had been given at his christening which had so entranced her, and even after all of the misery he had wrought after Rose awoke, for that one happy afternoon, Rose hated the way she felt about him now. She hated that she looked at his face, into those wide, terrified eyes, and wanted to hurt him until he felt a fraction of the anguish he had caused her.

She averted her eyes and focused instead on his hand, which was balled into a fist. She uncurled his fingers and took his hand between hers. Her right wrist and hand were still bandaged, but she could feel a mixture of Kinsale's magic and her own coursing through her fingers, and she found she could grip his hand, albeit awkwardly.

She ran the fingers of her left hand lightly over the back of his frozen right hand, noting the slightly rougher texture of his skin, the light brown hair on his arm, and the lean muscle she had once admired. She squeezed his hand and looked up into his eyes, then grasped his arm and broke his wrist with a loud _snap_.

Philip's eyes rolled back into his head and several tears came rolling down his cheeks. Rose narrowly avoided smiling in satisfaction. She let his hand fall. His wrist hung limply off of his frozen arm as though it had simply been draped there, and Rose watched for another full minute as tears continued to stream from Philip's horrified eyes.

"I do wonder," she said quietly, an echo of something Philip had often said to her in what seemed like another lifetime, "what it must be like inside your pretty head right now, Philip." She backed away, taking deep breaths in an attempt to quell the rage still boiling in her blood. "But I must be off."

She felt Kinsale's hands on her shoulders and turned around to face her. Kinsale gave her a small smile and touched her face lightly. "Off we go, then?" she repeated.

Rose nodded. "Off we go."

Not ten seconds later, Rose lay in a heap upon a cold, stony floor, clutching at Kinsale's leg as the world spun around her. She noted vaguely that Kinsale was wearing trousers and added this to an ever-growing list of strange things about Kinsale's behaviour today.

"We're here, Rose," Kinsale said gently and Rose looked up, blushed, and let go of Kinsale's leg.

"I'm sorry."

"There's no need to apologize." Kinsale knelt to the floor beside her and offered her hands to help Rose to her feet.

Rose took her hands, but the moment their eyes met, she instead all but threw herself into Kinsale's open arms. Kinsale returned her embrace warmly, and Rose dared to wonder whether her life might have truly improved just when she believed it to be over.

"I thought I'd never see you again," Rose half-sobbed into Kinsale's shoulder. "I thought I'd…oh, Kinsale, thank you…thank you for saving me…"

Kinsale chuckled and stroked Rose's hair. "You should only be so lucky as to be rid of me that easily," she said lightly. "I am only sorry I didn't come for you sooner."

Rose pulled away to look at Kinsale, but she did not let go of her arms. "What's happened? How long have I been Chained?"

"A week and a half," Kinsale replied, and Rose nearly choked in shock. She felt like she had been in those Chains for months already. "The Chains are a cruel punishment for a fairy, let alone a human sorceress," she amended sadly. "If they'd left them on any longer than a month or two, you'd have lost much more than just your magic."

Rose bit her lip for a moment before she spoke, "Mistress Zalia told them to leave the Chains on for no less than a year."

Kinsale's eyes widened in horror for an instant, and then her expression changed to one Rose did not readily recognize. It was the same way Kinsale had looked when she had explained why Fauna was tied up and Philip was frozen. "I expect Zalia will come to regret such a sentence," she said quietly. "Anyway, to answer your previous question, after I met with Joy and Zenovia, I came home to find you gone and everything in my home destroyed. I wasn't certain what had happened, so I waited a week before returning to Joy's home in the desert, where I found that she'd been taken by Sara's people. She left me a bit of a clue—that Fauna might help me."

"She certainly didn't want to help me," Rose muttered bitterly.

Kinsale frowned, "Yes, that does trouble me quite a bit, actually, that she would help Joy before you. But there'll be time to talk about that. I sought her out more as a back-up than anything—having a good fairy can be invaluable when the Chains of Avasina are involved—but first I went to the Fairy Queen to see if she might help me."

"The Fairy Queen?" Rose echoed. She tried to remember what she knew about the Fairy Queen and came up with very little.

Kinsale nodded. "She agreed to have Joy released, but she said she wouldn't take any action against Sara for acting rashly, on her account or on…" Kinsale pursed her lips and waited several long, painful seconds before she spoke again. "And that she would forward Sara my complaint. Which essentially meant that Sara would come after me next, and I'd be powerless to escape. So, I, ah…resorted to Plan B."

"What was Plan B?"

She smiled, "Mistress Zenovia."

"Ah," said an unfamiliar voice from the shadows. "This must be the infamous Princess Aurora." Rose whirled around, still clutching Kinsale's arm, to see the figure of a tall and noticeably muscular woman approaching. She came into the light, revealing herself to be just as impossibly beautiful as any other wicked fairy Rose had ever seen. She had high, pronounced cheekbones, large, dark eyes, and short dark brown hair.

At a loss for anything else to do, Rose curtseyed.

"There's no need for that, Your Highness," said the woman. Though her voice held no malice, it was cold and hard, and left no room for questions. "I am Mistress Zenovia of the Mountainlands," she said with a deep, sweeping curtsey which put Rose's to shame. "You are in my home. Or one of them, at any rate."

Rose stared in silence. Zenovia continued.

"Mistress Kinsale has asked me to teach you to heal and, if you wish it, to duel. As wicked fairies are born with the ability to heal themselves, the magic of healing others does not come easily to them. Most wicked fairies could not heal so much as a scrape on another person. Notable exceptions include Mistress Kinsale and myself. The magic itself is not weak, however, and you as a human sorceress will be able to wield it far more easily than a wicked fairy. This would be a way for you to be of assistance without being a liability and without using offensive magic, as I am given to understand was your wish when last you spoke with Kinsale."

"However," she added, and if it were possible, her voice became even more severe. Rose shivered. "I would highly suggest you learn at least enough magic to properly defend yourself. Defense alone might be enough if you were particularly skilled with it, but without much time left to prepare, the more varied your magical knowledge, the better."

Rose considered her previous desire for nonviolence, as well as her previous wish not to victimize others with magic the way she had been victimized. She found that these notions now seemed completely ridiculous to her, and yet she disliked that they did. She felt as though she had become some completely different person, one who did not mind snapping the wrists of those who would oppose her and who, when offered lessons in offensive magic from perhaps the most powerful wicked fairy on earth, would not even hesitate before wholeheartedly agreeing to this means of furthering her troublesome bloodlust.

Then again, she supposed this might be ever so slightly melodramatic. She had learned all too keenly that her limited knowledge of defensive magic was not enough to protect her. She knew then that she needed more. The violent thoughts she'd had since were another matter, and one which she must contend with on her own time.

"I have since changed my mind on the matter of offensive magic," she said to Zenovia with a strength and certainty which surprised her. "I would be very grateful for your instruction."

Zenovia smiled, and her smile was perhaps even more terrifying than her sternness. "Excellent. I ought to warn you that I have taken a grand total of one student in my lifetime. Patience and understanding are not among my virtues. However, my first student was even younger than you are. I took her on because she had already proven herself to be uncommonly talented. I offer you the benefit of my training in her honour."

Rose swallowed the bile rising in her throat and fought a powerful onslaught of tears at these words. "Maleficent," she breathed.

Zenovia nodded.

"I'm not uncommonly talented," said Rose, trying to will her lower lip to stop quivering.

"I heard a rumour that you put up quite a fight against Mistress Zalia before she captured you," Zenovia replied. "Zalia might not be especially powerful, but she's around Maleficent's age. For a human sorceress who has studied for less than a year, that's not bad."

"I'm nothing like Maleficent," Rose responded hollowly, shaking her head.

Zenovia rolled her eyes. "Fortunately, few people are."

Rose could not help herself—at Zenovia's heartless words, she began to cry. She crossed her arms and covered her face with her hand.

"Perhaps you would benefit from a bit of rest before we begin," said Zenovia after a moment. She placed a hand lightly on Rose's shoulder and steered her into a narrow hallway.

"I normally occupy this house alone," she said, "and I try to discourage guests, so I don't have a great deal of extra room. I hope you don't mind sharing." She rapped on one of a handful of doors and then pushed it open to reveal a small, bare room with two small beds crammed into it side by side, perpendicular to the door so that it could open.

The bed furthest from the door was occupied by an impossibly skeletal wicked fairy who sat propped up against the headboard reading a book. Rose could clearly see the outline of every bone in her arms and legs—it seemed impossible that she was even holding that book upright. Her skin was a horrifying grayish colour, and her body was covered in strange markings which looked like recently-healed wounds of some sort. What little hair she had was black and charred, and stuck out from her head in small patches.

She looked up from her book, and Rose gasped involuntarily. Her face was completely mutilated—it scarcely even resembled a face. Her cheeks were sunken in, both of her eyes were circled by dark bruises, her lips were swollen and distorted, and her nose was crooked, as though it had been broken.

The unidentified wicked fairy stared back at her calmly. "Briar Rose," she said, her voice barely above a raspy whisper.

"Come and fetch me when you've settled in," said Zenovia, and Rose heard the door shut quietly behind her.

Rose slowly began to shake her head. She would not believe it. She could not. If she believed it—if she allowed herself this surge of hope, it would be too good to be true and at the same time too horrible. If this poor, broken creature were Maleficent, what horrors had she suffered? It would be Rose's fault for wishing so desperately that Maleficent had lived—she would have condemned her with her selfishness to a fate worse than death.

"Calm yourself," said the mutilated fairy. "I wouldn't be physically capable of harming you even if I wanted to." And the edge in her voice, raspy though it was, was so perfectly familiar that Rose began to weep.

"Oh god, it is you!" she cried, sinking to the floor. "Oh god, oh god, oh god, I am so sorry! It's all my fault, I wished so hard that you might live even though I knew you were dead and you're not! You're not dead, but you're…oh god!"

Maleficent, if indeed it was she, had quickly climbed over the edge of her bed and onto the floor where she crouched before Rose. She barely touched Rose's arm with her fingertips, but Rose inhaled sharply and Maleficent withdrew her hand as though burned.

"You shouldn't apologize," she said. "I owe you the apology."

Rose shook her head once more, almost unable to meet Maleficent's eyes. She reached out slowly and touched Maleficent's cheek, expecting or perhaps hoping to be pushed away, but Maleficent did not even flinch. "What happened?" she breathed as a fresh wave of tears spilled out from her eyes.

"Well," Maleficent replied slowly, "I was supposed to be burnt at the stake a week ago. And I was certainly set on fire…" she gestured to the strange blistering wounds all over her arms, "several times. But only until I lost consciousness. Sara wanted me to beg for death. I didn't."

Rose bit her lip. She traced her fingers lightly over the burnt flesh of Maleficent's face. "Will it ever heal?" she whispered.

Maleficent's mouth twisted into something like a smirk. "I'm not sure why you're so upset. I wasn't any great beauty before."

Rose frowned. "That isn't true at all."

Maleficent reached up and gently removed Rose's hand from her face. "Of course it will heal. As I told you before, as long as we survive the initial blow, our bodies will eventually heal themselves. I hope you won't take this the wrong way, but you're looking a bit worse for wear, yourself." She looked down at the bandage on Rose's wrist and then traced a finger lightly over the angry red scar that had formed along her arm. "What's become of you?"

"I, ah…" Rose averted her eyes, "Philip broke my wrist. It was an accident. I was Chained, so I—"

"You were _what?_"

"Chained."

"By whom?"

"It was my own fault, really…I was—"

"The Hell it was," Maleficent growled. "Who Chained you? Flora? Fauna? One of Sara's lackeys? I'll kill them. I'll kill them all."

Rose frowned, but a part of her was somehow, disturbingly, comforted rather than terrified by the fire in Maleficent's eyes as she spoke. "There's no need for that," she said cautiously.

"Who Chained you?" Maleficent repeated, her lip curling.

"Mistress Zalia ordered it after she captured me. Fauna told the King and Queen that I could break a man's bones without even trying or something, so they agreed."

She rolled her eyes in response. "Of course they didn't take into account that you would sooner die than do such a thing."

Rose averted her eyes. "Actually…"

Maleficent placed two fingers beneath her chin and willed her to look up. Her expression was difficult to read in her current state, and yet her eyes were sparkling with interest. "Actually?"

"I…sort of…" Rose found to her surprise that she was trying to suppress a smile. It seemed so incredibly unthinkable, that the memory could make her happy in any way, that she should be sharing it with Maleficent, who she believed to be dead, and she was beginning to feel ever so slightly giddy. She must truly be losing her mind. "When Kinsale freed me, Philip was there…and I was so angry with him…and he'd been so horrible to me…he forced himself upon me again and again and again even when I said no, and he made me feel guilty for saying no to him…and he broke my wrist and I thought he was going to break every bone in my body, and I…I…I…" she was panting and tears were streaming down her cheeks. "I broke his wrist," she finally managed.

Maleficent chuckled lightly, and the sound filled Rose's heart with irrepressible joy. "Some evil sorceress you are," she said quietly.

Rose laughed, a breathy, strangled sound, and wiped away her tears. She tried to look past the depressing state of Maleficent's face into the sparkling black eyes she recognized and found that it was a surprisingly simple thing to do. "You're alive," she said with a small smile.

Maleficent reached up and touched her fingertips lightly against Rose's temple, stroking her cheek. "Zenovia doesn't like to be kept waiting. As it seems we'll be sharing a much smaller space than we're accustomed to, I think I can safely say that there will be time to talk later."

Rose nodded and stood, and she noticed that Maleficent took some time to get back onto her feet. She held out her hands hesitantly, but Maleficent steadfastly ignored them. "Are your legs all right?" she asked quietly.

"They were broken until yesterday," she said nonchalantly. "So no, not at the moment."

When she stood, Maleficent towered over Rose as she always had. She was virtually unrecognizable, and yet there was something so very particular about the way she stood and talked and simply _was_ that Rose knew she could be no one else.

Rose realized she was staring, but she did not look away immediately. She reached out to Maleficent slowly and deliberately, giving her ample time to get away, and wrapped her arms around Maleficent's waist, resting her cheek against the prominent bones of her sternum. Maleficent's arms, even thinner and spindlier than they had been before, crept tentatively around Rose's shoulders and rested there for a moment before Maleficent truly returned her embrace. Rose smiled as she felt Maleficent's head come to rest atop her own, just for a second, and only then did she slowly pull away.

"Thank you," she said quietly to the floor before quickly turning and leaving to find Zenovia.

Rose was in the fortunate position of having a multitude of scrapes and bruises all over her body upon which to practice the magic of healing. Zenovia was not precisely impatient, but she moved very quickly. Rose could imagine that, with Maleficent as her only model for a student, Rose's memory and learning curve must seem dreadfully slow. Still, she was told to practice each incantation until she cast it successfully, then she must immediately move on to the next. After every five or so, she repeated the ones she had learned so far.

Zenovia taught Rose twenty separate healing incantations. Each came with its own long list of specifications—what kinds of wounds it healed best and what kinds of wounds it barely healed at all—and on these Rose was extremely fuzzy, but she remembered the incantations surprisingly well.

After several hours, Zenovia gave Rose two books, both written by her, on wicked fairy healing magic, and insisted they move on to dueling.

"First we'll see what you know," said Zenovia. "Are you ready?"

Rose held her arms in the defensive position and nodded.

Zenovia's attacks were lightning-fast and they came one after another, without any warning. Rose managed to block one or two, but before even a minute had passed, she fell flat on her back halfway across the room.

"Heal yourself," said Zenovia simply. "I'll give you ten minutes to recuperate."

Rose struggled to push herself into a sitting position. She examined the places on her body which hurt the most and shook her head, trying to remember which spell went with which kind of injury. She settled upon the ones she had the best luck casting and set to work healing the many scrapes Zenovia had inflicted upon her in their thirty second battle.

"This time," said Zenovia after Rose had gained a hold on herself, "try to listen for the sounds the spells make as they're cast. The more skilled your opponent, the less likely it is that you'll be able to see her magic."

"All right," said Rose, though she had no idea how she was going to go about listening for the sound of a spell. Besides the fact that it sounded utterly absurd, Zenovia cast spells far too quickly for Rose to anticipate. Nevertheless, she pushed herself up onto her feet.

"Are you ready?"

Now that it had been pointed out to her, Rose realized that if she concentrated hard enough, she could hear a small whirring noise as each spell was cast. This allowed her to block Zenovia's spells for a respectable amount of time before she was flung across the room in defeat.

"Much better," said Zenovia when Rose had righted herself. "Next we'll try it with a staff. Kinsale has volunteered hers for the moment, but you'll need to fashion one of your own tomorrow."

When Rose had healed her (decidedly fewer) scratches and scrambled back onto her feet, Zenovia tossed her Kinsale's staff. Rose swung it across her body in accordance with proper dueling form and Zenovia gave a curt nod of approval. "Are you ready?"

Using a staff against Zenovia's bare hands gave Rose a bit of an advantage, and this round lasted three times as long as the last. When Rose's defenses dropped and she was thrown back into the opposing wall, it was because her magic was tired, not because her mind had slipped.

"Yes, a staff of your own will benefit you tremendously," Zenovia remarked before Rose had fully propped herself upright. "It's not bad, but it seems defensive magic isn't your true strength. Before we call it a night, I'd like to teach you some simple elemental attacks to see if I can determine where you might excel."

"What if I don't excel at anything?" Rose murmured, eyes half-closed.

"Everyone excels at something," Zenovia responded. "Anyway, there's no need for melodrama. You've tried only two types of magic thus far."

Rose sighed deeply and examined the scrapes she had received from their most recent battle. Though she didn't think she'd be able to heal herself, her magic was evidently more resilient than she had previously believed. She steadied herself against the wall and stood. With a wave of her hand, Zenovia caused Kinsale's staff to fly back into Rose's hands.

"It's doubtful that Earth will be your strength, so we'll begin with that to rule it out," said Zenovia once she was assured Rose wouldn't pass out on the spot. She taught Rose an Earth attack, which was something about the ground shaking or vibrations from the earth…Rose could not quite understand it, but she tried it nonetheless.

It took her at least an hour, but finally, the ground did indeed begin to shake. Rose, who was half-mad with exhaustion, turned quite giddy at the sight of her minor success. "Aha! I did it!" she cried, but before the quaking earth could make its way over to Zenovia, it died down and disappeared.

"Good," said Zenovia, but as she had done all day, she moved on without a repeat.

The next spell was an Air attack—which essentially sounded like a glorified gust of wind to Rose. This one took her far less time, and would have even enjoyed a small success if Zenovia had not reached up with one hand and nonchalantly flicked the spell away into nothingness.

"Good. Next."

The Water attack was some kind of toxic cloud which, as far as Zenovia was concerned, was "essentially a defensive spell unless expertly executed." Still, she taught it to Rose, Rose tried it over and over and over, and just as the sun began to set outside, she managed a small, sickly little puff of a cloud which actually made tiny coughing sounds as it eased its way over to Zenovia.

Zenovia frowned at it. "Good enough. Last one, then you need your rest."

Rose nodded in agreement, still watching her sad little cloud as it dissipated with a wheeze.

"Fire attacks can be extremely effective when wielded by the right sorceress," Zenovia explained. "Fire is, after all, one of only a handful of ways to kill a fairy permanently. Our kind is understandably fascinated by the stuff, and we've come up with a wide variety of uses for it. For now I'll teach you to form and throw a simple fireball."

Rose vaguely remembered the balls of energy or something that Maleficent had thrown at her for practice. She supposed this had been mere months ago, but it seemed like something out of a different lifetime. The process of forming such a thing was quite conceptually complicated—it required her to think of her magic as a concrete force which could be gathered and solidified. Once she had finally managed that to Zenovia's satisfaction, she must then learn to set the thing on fire.

The first several tries resulted in her energy ball dissipating into nothingness before she could get a spark to catch. The next few attempts resulted in Rose burning her hands and having to stop and heal them before she could continue. A wound to the hands, the vessels through which wicked fairy magic was most commonly performed, could be extremely detrimental to the flow of magic—according to Zenovia, when Rose had asked if she might forego the healing in favour of pressing forward.

The room had grown extremely dark but for the light of the moon. While Rose stared sternly at what was currently nothing between her hands for the thousandth time, Zenovia stopped her. "A little trick I can teach you that might help," she explained. Without explaining any further, she taught Rose the incantation, then showed her the way to enact it—by holding up one's hand and, essentially, blowing a kiss.

Rose tried it and, on her first try, a stream of colourful magic burst forth from her lips and snaked around the room, lighting several candles along its path before it returned to her.

Zenovia smiled. "Perhaps you'll be good with Fire, after all," she said quietly. "Try it with your energy ball."

Rose took a deep breath, closed her eyes and tried to feel the magic in her fingertips as though it were a tangible substance, and managed to create the bluish, tingling energy ball she desired. As per Zenovia's instructions, she thought of the candle incantation and blew upon her hands.

The energy ball caught fire. Rose's hands did not.

"Excellent. Now throw it. Hard."

Rose obeyed quickly. Zenovia caught the fireball with ease and threw it back to Rose. "Careful—remember, you made it. As long as you own your creation, it can't harm you."

To Rose's immense surprise, when she caught the fireball, it did not burn her. Delighted, she threw it back to Zenovia, who nodded her approval before throwing it back.

"Extinguish it and take back your magic, then we're done for the evening."

Rose blew out the magical fire she'd started, pulled apart her energy ball, then promptly stumbled back into the wall.

"Well done today, Princess Aurora," said Zenovia with a nod. "Get some rest, and please fetch me when you wake."

"Thank you, Mistress Zenovia," Rose replied, stifling a yawn. She made her way back down the narrow hallway, knocked quietly on the door of her shared room, and pushed it open to find something quite unexpected.

Maleficent was asleep. She lay on her side beneath her blanket, legs curled up close to her body, half of her mutilated face bathed in moonlight. Rose was not certain why she found this so incredibly noteworthy, but she had never been awake when Maleficent was asleep before. It seemed that no matter what time of day or night she was up and about, Maleficent was always up and about, as well. Rose knew it was completely ridiculous, but she had begun to believe on some level that Maleficent simply did not sleep.

Rose crawled into her own bed and pulled the blanket up around her shoulders, delighting in the feeling of a blanket which did not feel too heavy for ever-aching bones. She was exhausted and sore from her long day of work, but it was nothing compared with the way she had felt while Chained. She settled back into her pillow with a contended sigh.

"Sweet dreams, Briar Rose," said Maleficent quietly, her voice almost unreal, like the one that had echoed in her nightmares in weeks past.

Rose turned on her side and cracked open her eyes so that she could see Maleficent's outline to assure herself that the voice was indeed real. She smiled. My, how her circumstances had changed since this morning!

"Maleficent," she breathed as her eyes closed of their own accord.

"Yes?"

"Nothing, I'm just…" she yawned and pulled the blanket up around her neck, "…glad you're here."

Briar Rose was already fast asleep by the time Maleficent responded.

"Not as glad as I am."


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N:** So sorry for the loooong delay! Lots of things happened in my personal life, and then the chapter ended up being long (surprise) and kind of a monster, and then I decided to tackle some of the rewrites that needed to happen earlier in the story. But! I think I'm finally happy with the way this turned out! I may end up tweaking some things, but for the moment, I need a little time away from it. If you're interested, chapters 3-7 have been reworked to varying degrees, but the changes probably won't affect your understanding of the rest of the story if you choose not to reread.

Rene: I'm so glad this story makes you smile! There's still quite a way to go as far as I can see!

THANK YOU to luvhardbroom for making some beautiful fanart for this story! I spend inordinate amounts of time just kind of staring at this in wonder.

belovedeyes82 . deviantart art / The-Prisoner-366504344

The link is also in my profile if you don't feel like deleting the spaces! Thank you all so much for your amazing reviews, and for your patience! I really hope you will continue to share your thoughts!

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**Chapter 18 — The Eye of the Storm**

Briar Rose awoke slowly and reluctantly. She felt a kind of serenity she hadn't previously thought possible, and she was certain that if she held onto this dream hard enough, she might be able to avoid awakening to the nightmare she knew she was living. In her dream, she was not in pain. She was not weak or feverish or shivering, and she could feel the faint tingle of magic in her fingertips—not powerful or overwhelming, but gentle and reassuring, waiting in reserve, should she need it.

It felt so real. Rose knew it was a dream, for it was far too perfect to be true, and yet, as the sadness tugging at her heart roused her further from her slumber, she still did not feel any pain, nor did she feel the shaking, sickening weakness overtaking her.

Rose's eyes shot open. She glanced frantically around the room. It was extremely small—there was room for only her small bed and the empty bed directly next to it, with no space in between. There was a little window on the wall across from the door, through which the faint grey light of a cloudy day was shining.

With swift, jerky motions, she examined her body. She was much thinner than she remembered, but her wrist was not broken and bore only a bright red scar of her own design. It did not hurt to blink or to breathe. Her hair was not falling out. Her ankles were not throbbing and her legs were not shaking.

Rose smiled, disbelieving. She was free.

She lit from her bed, which involved climbing over the end and then maneuvering her way around the door, and then returned through the narrow hallway to the main room where she'd practiced magic with Mistress Zenovia yesterday. The room's only occupant was Kinsale, who sat in a tall and very uncomfortable-looking armchair with a book propped upon her knee, on top of which she was writing.

When Rose entered the room, Kinsale looked up. "Good morning, dear," she said.

Rose smiled brightly. "Good morning," she echoed reverently, still scarcely able to believe the words were true.

Kinsale returned Rose's smile and she set her book aside. "Would you like to see something positively horrifying?"

"What?" Rose's brow furrowed. Something Kinsale found horrifying? Rose shivered at the thought.

Kinsale gestured to the door which led to the vast, hilly fields which surrounded Zenovia's fortress. A short distance away, there seemed to be a giant black cloud of...something.

Rose squinted in the gray light of the morning and found that within the cloud of something were two green-skinned people wielding staves. Upon further inspection, she realized that they were firing spells at one another.

"Who are they?" Rose asked Kinsale in a terrified whisper.

"Why, Maleficent and Zenovia, of course. Zenovia is already entertaining more guests than she has in her entire lifetime."

Rose squinted at them again, but she still barely recogized them as people. Spell after spell flew back and forth between the shadowy figures. One of them would fall down or fly into the air and immediately she'd fire another spell without missing a beat. As what Kinsale had said registered with her, Rose clasped a hand over her mouth. "What happened?"

"Nothing," said Kinsale. "They're practicing."

Rose turned to face Kinsale, wide-eyed. "Practicing?"

Kinsale quirked an eyebrow in response, and Rose turned back to watch in a mixture of horror and enthrallment.

"My money is on Maleficent," said Kinsale from behind her. "Zenovia is older and stronger by far, and Maleficent has been so badly injured, but injury only augments her ruthlessness. She loves to fight...and she'll do anything to win."

Rose swallowed uncomfortably. Though she knew to some extent that this was true, she had sort of forgotten about that aspect of Maleficent. She shivered involuntarily at the memory of Maleficent when Rose had first set her free, emanating strength and power even despite her physical weaknesses. Now that Rose really watched the faux battle, she noticed that more often than not it was Zenovia who lost her footing. On the rare occasions when Zenovia did hit Maleficent with a spell, Maleficent seldom fell, but rather launched herself into the air and fired another spell before her feet had touched the ground again.

Suddenly, Zenovia's body seized up, and she fell to her knees, hands behind her back, as Maleficent swung her staff over her head, aiming it at Zenovia's throat. Rose had seen drawings that looked like this—it was the most formal way to end a duel, if it did not end in death. Maleficent had won.

"It's a good thing you didn't bet against me," Kinsale quipped, returning to her chair. "I would pretend I didn't see if I were you, unless you want to be worked twice as hard for the sake of Zenovia's pride."

Rose quickly followed Kinsale and took up one of the books she wasn't using. She tried to push aside the sudden flood of curiosity regarding Maleficent's relationship with Zenovia...Zenovia had been her teacher, but how long ago? How long had it taken Maleficent to learn the tricks of her teacher, so well that she could win in battle despite inferior age and power?

Maleficent and Zenovia entered the house...fortress?...in silence, just as rain began to fall outside.

"Good morning, Briar Rose," said Maleficent.

She looked a thousand times better than she had just yesterday. Her eyes, lips, and nose were their usual shape and size, for one thing. Most of her hair had begun to grow back in, but she had cut it so that only the barest fuzz of new, uncharred growth remained on her head. Her prominent widow's peak and dramatically arched eyebrows served to define the unique shape of her face. Her skin was still a sickly grayish colour and covered in burn marks, but overall she looked much more like Maleficent.

"Good morning," said Rose quietly. "Good morning, Mistress Zenovia."

Zenovia nodded, but she was preoccupied with several rather nasty wounds on the exposed skin of her arms. "When the rain dies down, go outside and gather some wood. Maleficent, I'll call for you when we're ready, if you don't mind."

"Very well. Good day."

Surreptitiously, Rose watched as Maleficent disappeared into the narrow corridor that led to their shared room. A part of her felt immensely relieved to see Maleficent looking more like herself, if not perhaps acting it. Another part of her reminded her sternly that she hardly knew anything about Maleficent, and that she tended to forget Maleficent's less favourable characteristics when she was feeling particularly alone swimming in her own multitudinous faults.

When the rain died down, Rose went outside. She relished in the feeling of the wet grass upon her bare feet, and it took her all morning to gather enough fallen branches to form a proper staff. Around midday, the wind turned cold and harsh and picked up speed, and Rose learned to meld the wood together to form the base of the staff. Sometime in the early evening, there was another violent downpour of rain, and Rose spent this time learning to conjure an orb made from the material of her birthstone, aquamarine. Then, as though she were not already completely exhausted, the real work began.

Zenovia explained that fairy children generally learned long after they came of age and had taken up a permanent residence. Rose was, therefore, ahead of the curve in this aspect. Conversely, the process would be far more difficult and arduous for her, as her magic was comparatively young.

"But a staff, as you've observed, grants you an enormous advantage in battle. And the effects will only be better if the staff is your own. Essentially," she explained, gesturing to the bluish-green orb Rose had created, "you're going to pour your magic into it. All of it. Then you're going to make a sort of copy of it which will remain within the staff."

Zenovia showed Rose how to hold her hands so that when she cast the spell, her staff would stand by itself. "As you've been a victim of the Chains of Avasina, I expect you know already how it will feel when you've done it correctly. Since you're not a fairy, someone will have to help you to cast the incantation once you've drained your magic. I thought the ideal candidate would be Kinsale, since you've proven you can use her staff with no unpleasant side effects, but Kinsale pointed out to me that you share magic with Maleficent."

Rose frowned. She remembered vaguely that Kinsale had written something about that in a letter, but that seemed like forever ago. It hadn't made any sense to her at the time, and she'd forgotten to ask about it. She'd had many more pressing matters on her mind. "I'm sorry," she said. "I don't understand."

Zenovia raised her eyebrows, but this was the only sign of surprise which registered upon her face. She did not ask any further questions or evade the topic. She simply explained. "Queen Leah of the East was unable to conceive for many years. She feared that the king would turn to another woman, or that their bloodline would end and the kingdom would fall into anarchy when they died, so she went to Maleficent to ask a favour. Don't misunderstand me—you're fully human and King Stefan and Queen Leah are your parents, but it was due to Maleficent's magic working upon your mother's womb that you were able to be conceived."

Rose's mind went momentarily blank and she was at a complete loss. She snapped back to attention when she almost dropped her newly-fashioned, completely useless shell of a staff. "I…I don't understand…" Rose murmured. "I'm sorry, I just…I don't understand, I…I need a moment."

Zenovia stood silently for several minutes and allowed Rose to collect her thoughts, but she did not offer any further comment.

"If Maleficent was the reason I was born..." Rose began slowly, "why did she curse me to die?"

"She charged the queen a price for her services. Queen Leah didn't pay the price, nor did she ever acknowledge it again," Zenovia replied with a small shrug. "I wouldn't lose sleep over it, Aurora. Maleficent may be a difficult person, but I assure you she no longer wishes you any harm. Shall we proceed?"

Rose squeezed her eyes closed and took a deep breath. She did her best to push the countless conflicting ideas and questions to the back of her mind before she nodded.

Zenovia put two fingers to her throat, but she did not amplify her voice. "Maleficent," she said quietly. "We're ready to begin." Then, she removed her fingers from her throat and spoke to Rose. "All right—this will be a bit like forming an energy ball, but you'll keep pouring your magic into the orb. Do you understand?"

Rose nodded. A second later, Maleficent appeared from the narrow hallway which led to their shared bedroom. She must have noticed Rose staring openly at her, for she pursed her lips and nodded uncomfortably.

"Begin whenever you're ready," said Maleficent quietly.

Unfortunately, with two pairs of eyes veritably looming over her, all Rose could think about was the ways in which Maleficent was like Zenovia and the ways in which she differed. She couldn't help but wonder what Maleficent had been like as Zenovia's student, and, on a related note, what she had been like when she was younger than Rose was now. She tried to clear her head, but her curiosity was only replaced by fear that she would be unable to properly cast the spell and would embarrass not only herself, but Maleficent, her first instructor.

To her immense surprise, Maleficent spoke once more. "It's all right," she said. Rose's head snapped up to look at her and she nodded again. Rose took several deep breaths and returned her attention to the aquamarine orb before her.

Once she'd cleared her head, pouring magic into something tangible was much easier than pouring it into empty air. She struggled to continue to push when she felt her magic depleting, and she began to panic when she began to feel as she had when she was Chained. She bit her lower lip and squinted in an attempt to keep her concentration, but her mind had begun to spin out of control. What if she wasn't powerful enough to manage this? What if it truly killed her or drove her mad? What if she'd already lost most of what little magic she had to the Chains?

Tears began streaming down Rose's cheeks. She had to try. She had to finish this. She was too weak to truly be of any use, anyway, so she would drain all of her magic into this staff before she died, that it might be of use to someone.

Just as she'd begun to spiral deeper into the all-consuming depression which had seemed until yesterday to be her final undoing, she felt large, cold hands covering her own. She looked up to meet Maleficent's eyes, alight with a strange spark she had never seen in them before, and she felt an overwhelming surge of magic course through her entire body. The aquamarine orb between their hands, which had previously looked much the same with magic as without, glowed bright green.

Rose could hear herself panting, gasping for breath, and yet she no longer felt as though her life was being drained from her along with her magic. On the contrary, she was stricken by the sudden notion that she had never felt so alive. She was tingling all over with an unfamiliar sensation. Try though she might, she could not quite catch her breath, and she found that she could not look away from Maleficent's shining black eyes, nor could she even blink.

The tingling sensation slowly grew in intensity until Rose was quivering from head to toe. Her stomach was twisting itself into knots, but this was not overall unpleasant. It was unlike anything she'd ever felt before. Was this the way Maleficent felt every time she used magic? It was...Rose didn't know what to make of it. It was positively intoxicating. Rose began to feel slightly giddy. If she could feel this way all the time, she would do it. She would practice magic until she could feel this way all the time.

With a painful jolt that ran all the way up her arms, Rose fell in a heap upon the floor, still gasping for air and sweating profusely. Her vision was blurry, and all she could think about were Maleficent's eyes staring into her soul. She tried to move, but couldn't. She tried to blink away the blurriness, but saw no change. She saw only a faint glowing green light surrounded by the smaller, dimmer lights she knew to be candles.

She was reminded vaguely of a similar green light, and the way she'd known she would follow that mysterious light to the ends of the earth and beyond. She remembered the disembodied voice that seemed to resonate within her own body, the voice she now knew to be Maleficent's, leading her up flight after flight of winding stairs with soothing, meaningless words of comfort. It occurred to her that, in this vague half-memory, Maleficent was drawing her in with the intention of enacting a curse upon her, and yet her mind seemed to have disconnected with this information, for it seemed like nothing more than a very disturbing dream.

She thought in contrast of the real Maleficent...or at least the one who seemed most real to her, who seemed so completely awkward when genuinely trying to comfort her—and, concurrently, of the many times she had tried to comfort Rose in spite of that. She thought of Maleficent fighting with Zenovia...she thought _ruthless...she'll do anything to win...she doesn't understand anything about love or kindness or the joy of helping others..._

These thoughts then began to intermingle with _a visitor?_ and _I'd much prefer if you made it clear what you're thinking and feeling_. She thought of Maleficent in Chains, holding out her wrists, and she thought of Maleficent magnificently dressed and glowing with power, holding out her arms.

Mostly, though, her thoughts kept drifting back to that strange spark she'd just seen flickering in Maleficent's black eyes, like lightning against the night sky, and each time she saw Maleficent's eyes in her mind, her stomach began twisting itself into nervous knots once again, and she could not even begin to fathom what that might mean.

As if in response to her dazed simile, Rose heard the distant rumble of thunder. With the accompanying flash of lightning, her vision began to clear somewhat, and she found she was able to push herself into a sitting position.

Zenovia stood exactly as she had before—she did not seem to have even shifted her weight since they'd begun. Maleficent was bent over Rose's staff, muttering quietly over the glowing orb atop it.

"I'm sorry," Rose wheezed. "Did I ruin it?"

"No, it's all right," Zenovia replied, but she was eyeing Rose with something like disdain. "It seems to be working."

In spite of Zenovia's unusual expression, Rose found it within her to smile in disbelief. She had done it? "It's working?" she repeated.

Zeonvia nodded curtly, still eyeing Rose suspiciously, but Rose was quickly distracted by the sight of Maleficent, still hunched over the glowing green orb of Rose's staff, eyes (mercifully) closed. "What is she doing?" Rose wondered in an awestruck whisper.

"She's sealing in the copy of your magic I mentioned. Shouldn't take but another minute."

Rose responded to Zeonvia's explanation by lying (that is to say, half-falling) back down on the floor. She did not feel even nearly as bad as she had when Chained. Her exhaustion was more akin to the way she'd felt when she first began practicing magic day in and day out.

She found it curious to reflect upon the time she'd spent, barely eating, barely sleeping, always studying, and seldom seeing any improvement. She'd been living in a strange kind of daze, waking up every few hours whether it be night or day only to exhaust herself another few hours or even minutes later. She realized now, after yesterday's grueling lesson with Zenovia, that she would have done much better to seek Maleficent's tutelage every day, and wondered why she hadn't realized that.

The answer came surprisingly easily to her. Maleficent had seemed to her so absolutely unreachable on every level, and in spite of that, Rose had longed—with a desperation which was slightly disproportionate to the actual content of their relationship—to understand her better in any way at all. Certainly Rose wanted to be able to defend herself—she didn't want to be a burden, and she wanted to entertain the idea of having personal freedom someday in the future, for hadn't that been the reason behind her mad adventure into the unknown? But neither of those things seemed like they could qualify as immediate concerns. Reaching Maleficent seemed somehow surmountable. A very large and probably exceptionally foolish part of Rose thought that if she one day emerged from her room an even marginally competent sorceress, Maleficent might look at her as more than the foolish, helpless girl she'd tricked into setting her free.

Rose began to feel truly foolish when she realized that she didn't want Maleficent to be her teacher. She felt that this would only add to Maleficent's perception of her as a simple child, and as a result, she avoided seeking Maleficent's help to her own detriment. That was ridiculous. Rose really must try to move past her deluded obsession if she wished to share the same room—and very nearly the same bed—with Maleficent.

Fortunately, before this unprecedented thought could give way to a host of perplexing tangents, Rose felt the tingle of magic as it returned to her body, and she breathed a deep sigh of relief as she pushed herself back up into a sitting position.

Maleficent held Rose's staff out to her and Rose carefully avoided meeting her eyes as she reached for it. "Thank you," she said to Maleficent's outstretched hand.

As her hand wrapped around her staff, however, Rose felt a powerful surge of something which caused her entire body to shiver violently. "_Oh,_" she uttered, gazing at the orb which had begun to glow a light bluish-green.

"Get up," said Zenovia. "Prepare yourself." As Rose obeyed, Zenovia thanked Maleficent, who disappeared back into the narrow hallway which led to their room without another word.

Rose could not quite put the way she was feeling into words, but if she had to suppose, she would guess that it was as though the lightning crashing outside were within her, surrounding her, and dancing all over her skin, and she could not tell whether she was burning or freezing.

For the first time, as she swung _her_ staff across her body, Rose actually felt prepared for what was to follow.

Zenovia's first several spells gave no visual indication, but Rose easily heard the whirr they made when they were cast and blocked them, one after the other. The next spell came more quickly, but it had a faint purplish trail behind it. Not only did Rose block it, but she fired back a spell of her own. It was little more than a weak gust of wind, really, and it was one of only two offensive spells she could successfully cast, but Rose felt tremendously accomplished.

Instead of throwing off her focus, her small victory invigorated her, and she fought back twice as hard and twice as fast. Once, when she was feeling particularly brave, Rose tried to form a ball of energy using her staff. Unsurprisingly, with a concrete object for visualization, the task was much easier, and she actually succeeded in firing it. Zenovia caught it and threw it back at her, and Rose, with a last minute burst of adrenaline, caught the glowing ball of energy, blew upon it, and set it on fire before throwing it back.

Their battle lasted for a long time. The storm ebbed away into the occasional drip-drop, then picked up again into a fully-fledged downpour, complete with powerful gusts of wind which put out the candles in the room, and bright flashes of lightning which came to serve as Rose's only indicator of Zenovia's constantly changing position. Rose began to panic, as though her life were truly at stake in this battle, and again her mind drifted back to the fuzzy, incomplete idea she had of Maleficent at her age, even more alone in the world than she was, learning and even teaching herself to fight battles like this one, knowing that she might one day have to fight one against her own mother.

Upset by her ruminations, Rose's concentration wavered and one of Zenovia's spells scraped her arm. Blood gushed from the wound, and Rose grew even more distracted.

"Put up a shield and heal yourself!" Zenovia barked, but this command was accompanied by another spell which hit Rose squarely in the knee.

Rose collapsed, grasping onto her staff for support, and put up a very weak shield—she could physically feel the holes in it, which, conceptually, seemed quite bizarre to her. She tried to heal her arm, but only barely managed to stop the bleeding before some spell of Zenovia's literally blasted her shield into pieces.

Rose hopped to her feet, wincing as she landed upon her injured leg, and spent the very short remainder of their battle trying and barely succeeding to block the spells Zenovia threw at her one after another, until one finally hit her squarely in the stomach. The spell not only threw her across the room and into the wall, but it seemed to paralyze every bone in her body with pain. Rose tried to scream, but the sound was strangled in her throat and came out as little more than a quiet groan.

"That's enough for today," said Zenovia. "Review your healing spells, get some rest, and fetch me when you wake."

Rose lay twisted and paralyzed against the wall for several minutes, willing her body to move before, slowly, she was able to drag her limbs into something resembling their proper alignment. She half-crawled, half dragged herself to the hallway before she made it onto her feet. She flung open the door to her shared room and collapsed face-first onto her bed.

"You aren't tired, are you?" Maleficent quipped and Rose's heart jolted in surprise. It wasn't that she hadn't expected Maleficent to be there—where else would she be? It was that Rose had forgotten how close together their small beds were: there wasn't even a gap between them. Maleficent's voice seemed to come from directly above her, but when Rose propped herself up to investigate the matter, she found that Maleficent sat a perfectly innocuous distance away, propped up against her headboard, reading a book by (magically enhanced) candlelight.

Rose wasn't certain what made her avoid meeting Maleficent's eyes. She felt suddenly shy. "I'm supposed to review healing spells," she said pointlessly.

"I'd suggest you comply," Maleficent replied, and Rose found herself examining the shape of Maeficent's lips as she spoke. They were no longer even slightly twisted or swollen. On the contrary, they were quite lovely. "I'm sure you can imagine how kindly Mistress Zenovia would take to negligence."

"When did you study with her?" Rose wondered, still not quite able to meet Maleficent's eyes as she pushed herself into a sitting position, wincing at the lingering pain from what she supposed qualified as a mildly successful battle.

"The first time was when I was thirteen. The second was about a decade after that."

"What happened after the first time?"

"She sent me away after a little over a year."

Rose's eyes widened in shock, and she looked up from the wound on her left arm. "Why?"

"I was 'too anxious and paranoid to be teachable,'" Maleficent replied impassively.

"I must admit," said Rose, returning her attention to healing herself, "I can't imagine you being anxious or paranoid—at least not without good reason."

"I imagine that was an understatement, actually," said Maleficent.

"When did you grow out of it?"

"To be perfectly honest," Maleficent began, and Rose could feel Maleficent's eyes on her, "I think I merely learned to hide it better."

Rose looked up again. "Oh," she offered weakly. She still found the idea unfathomable. Even now, stripped of her usual overwhelming glory, her body in even worse condition than it had been when Rose first laid eyes on her, Maleficent exuded power. Rose could not imagine what might cause Maleficent all-consuming anxiety.

As Maleficent returned her attention to the book in her lap, Rose grabbed one of Zenovia's books and flipped through it in search of one which would heal the shooting pain in her leg. Unfortunately, her concentration was severely lacking, and this book was still a bit above her reading level.

She had suddenly remembered the multitude of revealing conversations she'd had with Kinsale about Maleficent, and she felt a giddy sort of relief for tension she hadn't realized she'd been holding onto. Rose had believed she would never get to speak with Maleficent again, and she'd had so many questions she believed would never be truly and conclusively answered.

"May I ask you something?"

"You may."

Rose focused her eyes on the page she was only half-reading. "Is it true that your mother sometimes kept you in chains for no reason?"

There was a moment's silence, then, "Yes."

Rose took a moment to process this information, and she found that it still deeply upset her. She supposed she'd tried to block the disturbing image from her mind in the time since she'd first heard of it from Kinsale. If Maleficent were anyone else, Rose would have reached out to her and tried to offer some sort of comfort, but she could think of nothing to do or say which would be of any help. After a moment, she moved onto her next question. "Is it true that she murdered your sisters?"

"Yes."

Rose clutched the cover of Zenovia's book. She thought of the pretty bedrooms in Maleficent's home in the Dragon Country...of the intricately fashioned dresses...of the second edition of Mistress Acacia dedicated to Maleficent's middle sister.

She knew what question she had to ask next, and it caused bile to rise in her throat. But she must know, for so many reasons, and so she swallowed hard and tried to speak more firmly than she felt.

"Did you kill her?"

Maleficent's answer came quickly. "No," she said, and Rose almost let the book fall from her hands in relief. "Though I expect every fairy alive at the time still believes I did."

"What happened?" asked Rose, daring to look up.

"I sent her away," said Maleficent. "I promised if I ever saw her again I would kill her."

"But you never did," she confirmed.

"How would you feel if I had?" Maleficent wondered, quirking one eyebrow.

Rose looked away again. "I don't know," she said, her stomach twisting. "I'm so confused about so many things these days. I...I don't know."

"Don't work yourself up over nothing, Rose," said Maleficent. "I was only curious. I didn't see her again until I was imprisoned in Sara's dungeon."

"Wait…so she's still alive? Why did Sara imprison your mother?" Could it have been for the murder of Maleficent's sisters? That seemed too good to be true.

"For masquerading as a human, I suppose," Maleficent replied. She was still apparently reading—or at least doing a better job of pretending than Rose ever could. "That's what she'd been doing for upwards of a century. I expect it was merely an added bonus that she was my mother. Sara used her to bait me and then promptly burnt her at the stake. To answer your previous question, no, she isn't alive any longer."

"I…" Rose began, but again found herself at a loss. "I'm sorry."

"There's no need to be."

"But wait…Sara baited you? You mean…she tricked you and captured you?" This, too, seemed impossible. Maleficent was frightfully intelligent and she did not trust easily. Rose assumed that no one could play a trick on her.

"She'd have had to," Maleficent replied. "Sara alone would be no match for me—I doubt she's fought a proper duel in centuries."

"But how did she manage it?"

Maleficent returned her attention to her book. "She didn't have to try very hard at all," she said quietly. "Sara decided I must despise my mother enough to overlook a very obvious set-up and, unfortunately, she was correct."

That wasn't precisely an answer, but Rose decided not to push the topic. She turned her attention back to the book of healing spells, flipping page after page in search of the spell that would ease the pain in her knee.

After months of longing for just one conversation with Maleficent, even one which ended in the usual tense misunderstanding, this one had been surprisingly civil and informative thus far. Rose didn't want to risk pushing Maleficent too far so that she was no longer willing to talk. She was no longer under the foolish delusion that she might slowly and carefully coax Maleficent out of her shell. If even a fraction of what Rose had recently learned about Maleficent's life was true, Maleficent deserved to have a shell.

Rose was quickly beginning to feel panicked, and she flipped pages so quickly that she couldn't have even read any of the words if she tried. The pain in her knee did not ebb at all with time, and Rose began to spiral back into the catastrophic depression she had felt several times today as she was reminded of how dire her circumstances had been only yesterday.

Rose had been in such agony that death would have been a mercy. She'd believed Maleficent to be dead and Kinsale to be soon to follow. She'd believed herself doomed to a life of misery bordering upon madness. Before she had been freed, she'd genuinely believed that there was nothing left for her in this world.

She felt a cold hand on her wrist and flinched in surprise, looking up to meet Maleficent's black eyes. Maleficent was unnervingly close to her, and Rose found it suddenly very difficult to breathe.

"Are you looking for something?" Maleficent asked her softly.

"Zenovia hit me in the knee," she said hurriedly. "It isn't a scratch, though...something internal. I don't know how to fix it."

Maleficent glanced down at the book. "Try a summoning spell, emphasizing an important word...internal, perhaps."

Rose glanced fearfully from Maleficent back to the book several times before she was able to calm herself enough to heed Maleficent's advice. Sure enough, a summoning spell caused the book to turn immediately to the page she needed. Rose ran her hand over her knee several times and, slowly, but noticeably, the pain ebbed away into relief.

"Thank you," she said, leaning back against the headboard of her bed with a deep sigh.

"You're welcome," Maleficent replied. "Zenovia moves very quickly. It will be difficult, but you'll soon find you learn very quickly."

"I ought to have asked for your help more often."

"I think it was wise of you to try to learn on your own," said Maleficent, and Rose looked over at her in surprise.

"Wise?"

"Yes, wise," Maleficent repeated. "It would have been incredibly difficult for you to hold onto your convictions with constant instruction from me. Perhaps you haven't noticed considering the direness of my recent circumstances, but generally I have a bit of a knack for convincing people to see things my way."

Like most things Maleficent said, Rose realized, this brief explanation was riddled with many layers of information she hadn't explicitly given. Maleficent's recent circumstances, in her mind, probably encompassed the entire time Rose had known her. The first time Rose had encountered her, Maleficent had been injured and Chained, and here she was again having narrowly escaped death. How differently would Rose view Maleficent, she wondered, if she had been in full possession of her formidable capabilities throughout the entirety of their acquaintance?

This was also the second time today that a piece of information about Maleficent which Rose had already known had resurfaced and shocked her. Rose could remember her realization that Maleficent had easily manipulated Rose into setting her free, and she could remember constantly reminding herself to be wary, but she'd been rather quickly and helplessly drawn in. It was only by chance that Maleficent either did not want to harm her any longer or had chosen not to because Rose had saved her life. Otherwise, Rose realized with a start, she would have been easy prey.

"Maleficent?" she spoke before she could think better of it.

"Yes?"

Rose closed her eyes. "When did you stop wanting me to die?"

There was another long silence. Finally, Maleficent spoke. "I can't remember. I can't even remember what it was like to want you to die...perhaps because it was never you. It was the infant. Then the princess."

"One could argue that that's far worse than wishing death upon me."

"One could argue many things," Maleficent replied evenly. "Do you intend to?"

Rose opened her eyes and stared steadfastly at the opposing wall. "A baby is pure. A baby is...uncorrupted...by the world."

"And purity is to be valued and protected above all else?" Maleficent countered easily. Rose did not look, but she imagined Maleficent was still reading while she spoke. "Above someone who, for example, has experienced a fair amount of the world's horrors, and yet retains her uncommonly kind heart? Is that your argument?"

"That's an awfully lenient assessment of my character," said Rose uneasily. Thoughts she had tried to push to the back of her mind began slowly, steadfastly creeping to the forefront.

"How would you assess your character?" Maleficent wondered.

Rose pulled her knees up against her chest. "I don't know. Frightened. Confused. Hurt." She squeezed her eyes closed again. The last word, perhaps the most important, the most pervasive, clung to her lips. She knew she must say it, and yet she dared only whisper it, and only to Maleficent, who might understand...or who at least wouldn't care. "Angry."

As soon as she had choked out the word, Rose began to cry from sheer relief at having finally spoken it aloud, having finally named that swirling, churning monster which sometimes took hold of her and made her unrecognizable to herself, as unrecognizable as the image of Princess Aurora she'd once seen looking back at her from the mirror.

She felt the ghost of fingertips, feather-light upon her shoulder and almost familiar to her, and without hesitation, Rose launched herself at Maleficent. Maleficent flinched in surprise, but she caught Rose in her arms and held her while she cried helplessly against the thick, black fabric of Maleficent's dress.

"I'm so angry," she sobbed. "I've been so angry for so long, and I—I—I couldn't..."

Maleficent stroked Rose's hair, which was no longer falling out, until she calmed down somewhat, but Rose did not let go.

"May I ask you a question?" Maleficent said softly, sounding almost hesitant.

Rose was so surprised that it took her a moment to respond. "Of course."

"Why are you telling me this as though it isn't my fault?"

Rose pulled away from Maleficent, but her hands still clutched Maleficent's dress. "I don't know," she replied, her voice still heavy with the echo of her tears. "Perhaps because I don't want it to be. Perhaps because you're the only person I know who can understand it."

"Anger?"

Rose nodded. She still could not bring herself to let go of Maleficent.

Once again surprising her, Maleficent caught Rose's chin between her fingers and willed her to look up. "Well," she said. "I can certainly understand anger." With her other hand, she wiped away Rose's tears.

"So let me see if I follow," she said almost lightly. "You're angry, but not with me, the cause of all of your misery. You're not angry with me..." her brow furrowed so subtly that Rose would not have noticed it if she were not a breath away. "You're not angry with me...because you need someone who can understand your anger on some level. And I am your best option at the moment. Does that sound accurate?"

Rose found that a small smile was tugging at her lips. "Far more accurate than anything I've been able to come up with," she said.

Maleficent nodded curtly, but her expression retained a shadow of concern. "Very well, then," she said. "Now, study. I'd hate for Zenovia to break your leg tomorrow."

Admittedly somewhat spurred on by the idea of having her leg broken by Mistress Zenovia, Rose tried valiantly to study which healing spells went with which kinds of wounds, practicing them on the many remaining bruises and scratches on her own body.

When she came to the spell for burns, though, Rose was again overcome by fears and questions and possible answers which gave way to more fears and more questions. She stared miserably at the page for several minutes before she spoke. "Maleficent?"

"Yes?"

"May I, ah...may I borrow your arm for a moment?"

Maleficent looked up from her book and quirked an eyebrow at Rose. Rose smiled sheepishly and tapped the spellbook with her fingertips.

"Very well," said Maleficent after a short pause. She shifted her book to her other knee and offered Rose her left arm.

Rose took Maleficent's wrist gingerly in her hand and examined the many red, blistered patches of skin which erupted all along the greyish skin of Maleficent's arm. She found that a lump had formed in her throat, and her free hand ghosted over one of the burns as though she might somehow heal it by wishing alone. She could feel Maleficent's eyes watching her raptly, though, and she quickly glanced back at the spell for confirmation.

Rose closed her eyes for a moment and tried to concentrate—she tried to ignore the feeling of Maleficent staring at her and the horrifying mental images of some faceless person setting Maleficent on fire, goading her to beg for death. As a tear streamed down her cheek, though, she finally managed enough concentration to gather her magic into her fingertips, and she ran them as lightly as possible over the worst of the burns on Maleficent's arm.

To her immense surprise, after a few tries, the angry blisters shrank and the violent redness faded into a faint rosy grey. Rose glanced up at Maleficent, whose eyes were afire despite her neutral expression. "Did it work?" she asked timidly.

"You can see the evidence for yourself, can you not?" Maleficent asked her crisply.

Rose tilted her head, "Not much use if it doesn't feel any better."

Maleficent averted her eyes, only for an instant, and then they were back, still more intense than before. "It does," she said, surreptitiously withdrawing her arm. "Thank you."

Against her better judgement, Rose caught Maleficent's hand before she could pull away. Her stomach lurched as she was reminded of the surge of fury which had driven her to snap Philip's wrist, and she quickly let go of Maleficent's hand and backed away as far as was possible.

"Is something the matter?"

"I could have..." Rose murmured, shaking her head. "No, I couldn't really have, I don't think, but I..."

Rose looked at her hands. Her wrists were still bone-thin and her right arm still bore a bright red scar, but her hands were unscathed. They looked like her hands. There was no indication in the way they looked that they could snap the wrist of a strong, healthy young man who...who certainly tried to care for her, if perhaps he hadn't been very successful.

"There was a moment. A second. An instant, really," said Rose, still staring at her hands. "I could have...Philip. I could have...killed him," she sobbed the last words, doubling over into herself with the force of them, as she once again confessed to Maleficent what she would never, _could _never confess to anyone else. "I could have done it, oh God, I could have done it, and I...I would have..."

Rose swallowed hard and wrapped her arms around her knees in an attempt to hold herself together. "I would have hated myself," she continued quietly. "If I had killed him, I would never have stopped hating myself for it, but... But when I..." again Rose had to stop and swallow the bile rising in her throat "...when I snapped his wrist, I... I enjoyed it."

Rose's head suddenly snapped up in a panic only to find Maleficent gazing calmly back at her. Rose's heart was racing and tears were still streaming down her cheeks. She didn't know what she was hoping to find in Maleficent's eyes...perhaps it was what she couldn't find in her own heart: forgiveness. Understanding.

"I enjoyed that I was inflicting pain on him. I enjoyed that he might feel a...a fraction of the pain he caused me," she breathed, horrified, but unable to stop herself. She had to get the words out. She had to speak them aloud, or they would remain forever trapped inside her head, echoing over and over until she couldn't escape them.

"What would you have me say?" Maleficent asked her quietly. There was no malice in her voice. It was not a challenge or a threat.

Rose shook her head listlessly. "I don't know," she said. "I don't know. I'm sorry."

"I do wish you'd stop apologizing to me. You haven't done anything."

"I'm sorry," Rose repeated. With another sob, she lay her head on her knees.

After a few moments, she felt Maleficent's fingertips at her temple and she leaned into the touch desperately. When Maleficent spoke, her voice was like a distant dream. "I told you once before: you must find peace with yourself. I can't give that to you any more than the Good Fairies or Prince Philip could."

Rose cringed at the mention of Philip's name. Maleficent made to retract her hand, but Rose quickly caught it and held it against her cheek.

"I could tell you it's all right," Maleficent continued after a moment's pause. "I could use your conflicted emotions to coerce you into becoming the sort of...vindictive person who inflicts pain on others to distract herself from the misery in her own heart." Maleficent's free hand cupped the other side of Rose's face, and though her expression remained neutral, there was a chilling sadness shining in her black eyes. "You'd grow to despise me for it. As well you should. Yet..." Maleficent's dramatic eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly. "I should find such a circumstance most undesirable."

Rose looked up, wide-eyed, as she turned the strange sentence over and over in her brain. _You don't want me to despise you?_ she wanted to echo stupidly, but caught herself. "I wasn't expecting an answer," she said, feeling considerably less panicked than she had a moment prior. "It's only...all these thoughts get trapped inside my head, and it's very difficult to make sense of any of them. It's much better to say them aloud. They feel more real that way, and I stop feeling like I've gone completely mad."

Maleficent nodded slowly. "I see." She dropped her hands from Rose's face, but Rose held onto them.

Rose looked down and squeezed Maleficent's hands, and she let out a strangled half-chuckle. "But I suppose it's a bit late for that," she said quietly. "This whole adventure has been madness."

Maleficent didn't speak, and Rose couldn't quite bring herself to look away from Maleficent's hands in hers. When she closed her eyes, she saw the prisoner in the dungeon of King Stefan's castle who terrified just as much as she captivated. Rose swallowed back another rush of tears as she tried to understand why, of all the things she could possibly feel towards Maleficent, who should by all accounts be her mortal enemy, she must feel such fierce, foolish devotion.

"I could..." Maleficent began, and Rose looked up. Maleficent averted her eyes. "I could hide you away, you know. If you wished it. I could place you under a...under a proper sleeping spell...until the war is over. You would be safe and blameless, and you'd be free to live whatever life you choose when the world is safe again, no matter what happens. Free of your aunts, free of your husband and your kingdom, free of me and my kin..."

Suddenly Maleficent turned her eyes back on Rose, and Rose struggled to swallow. "Wasn't that the reason you set me free? That you might pursue your own freedom?"

Rose realized she must look slightly stricken, and she knew Maleficent would probably vastly misinterpret her facial expression, but she didn't have the wherewithal to try to disguise the rush of conflicting emotions flooding through her. Half-consciously, she allowed Maleficent's hands to fall from hers, and her hands hovered uselessly in the space between them, grasping for words that wouldn't come.

"You would have died," she said listlessly.

"And you couldn't have allowed it?" Maleficent countered, darkly. "Not even for an instant? Not even long enough that I might feel a fraction of the pain I caused you?"

Rose blinked several times and shook her head, still feeling vaguely lost. "No."

Maleficent took Rose's right wrist in her hand and Rose looked down at it in a vain attempt to stop herself from staring at nothing. Maleficent traced a long finger lightly over the angry red scar that still lingered on Rose's wrist, even after she'd managed to heal her many other injuries.

"I couldn't get rid of it," Rose offered weakly.

"Much of magic hinges upon intent," Maleficent replied quietly.

"I thought..." Rose began, but she choked on the words. _I thought I had lost everything. I thought there was no hope left for me. I thought you were dead, I thought Kinsale was gone, I thought my feeble excuse for freedom was nothing but a distant dream...I thought I was doomed to exist in a nightmare for the rest of my miserable, insignificant little life..._

Rose's eyes drifted over Maleficent's arms, still covered in healing burn marks. They caught on her wrists, which still bore the telltale purplish bruises left by the Chains. She was suddenly surrounded with searing clarity by the sound of Maleficent's voice, though only a distant memory...something Maleficent had told her forever ago, when they'd barely known one another at all.

_It is possible that there are worse fates than death, but to die is never to know what could have been._

Again, Rose's eyes drifted to the small scar on her own wrist. "I'm not you," she whispered at last. "I can't...I can't stare hopelessness in the face and carry on the way you can." She swallowed hard, but a few tears still streamed down her cheeks. "I'm sorry."

With her free hand, Maleficent brushed away Rose's tears. "I wasn't looking to shame you," she said. "Only to understand."

"To understand?" Rose looked up at her, almost defiantly. "Why someone would give up willingly what you would never?"

"No, no," Maleficent shook her head. "No hypotheticals. Why you, specifically, wouldn't value the sanctity of your own life as you value that of others."

"Perhaps I've changed," said Rose, lifting her chin. "Perhaps I'm not the same girl who values life so highly."

Maleficent averted her eyes and nodded. "Perhaps," she agreed.

The word caused Rose's heart to wrench painfully in her chest. "Are you going to hate me for it, too?" she half-sobbed. "For changing?"

Maleficent's eyes met Rose's once more. "Of course not."

Rose shook her head. "Then why does any of this matter to you? Why do you care that I would snap Philip's neck or slit my own wrists before I allowed you to die? Why can't you just quietly pity me my foolishness like everyone else?"

Maleficent's grip on Rose's wrist suddenly tightened and her eyes lit up. "Because it doesn't make any sense!" she cried. "Does it not matter to you? Does it not concern you that you would lay down your life before someone who once viewed the entirety of your existence as little more than collateral damage?"

Rose tried to withdraw her hand, but Maleficent's grip did not loosen. "You wouldn't have done it. Not really. Not in the end."

"Are you certain of that?" Maleficent sneered. "Have you, in your Chained delirium, somehow managed to convince yourself of my innate goodness? My innate purity of heart, which in your mind is to be protected above all else? How fortunate for me, that I should somehow have made my way into your fickle good graces, princess!" Maleficent threw Rose's hand away from herself and backed away as far as was possible, somehow still managing to look regal and imposing while perched on a tiny bed, on her recently-healed knees.

"And how fortunate for you," she continued, her eyes glowing ominously, "that your life did not interfere with my revised plans for revenge against your mother. Otherwise, I swear to you, I would have killed you."

Rose shook her head, tears flowing unchecked down her face. "I don't believe you."

Maleficent's lip curled. "And I wouldn't have lost a moment's sleep over it!"

"No!" Rose repeated miserably. "No. I won't believe it!"

"And why not, I wonder?" Maleficent snarled, and Rose shivered involuntarily. "Does it interfere with your vision of me as somehow better than those who would oppress you? Does it render me suddenly unworthy of your sacrifice?"

Rose covered her mouth with her hand to stifle a sob and she tried to regain control of herself. A part of her—a very small and very feeble part that did not very much like to fight to be heard—was trying to tell her that Maleficent was trying to push her away again, and that if she could somehow find a way to regain control of the situation, it might do both of them a great deal of good.

The rest of her, however, was spiraling into chaos. She saw very clearly in her mind two different portraits of Maleficent: one painted by her aunts and by the Eastern Kingdom, and one painted by Rose. In the first, Maleficent was a wretched monster, all sharp angles and harsh words and careless detachment from the dispensable lives of humans she played like pawns in a game of chess. In the second, she was a fallen angel, tragically beautiful, a reserved and rigid, bookish sort of person who was painfully shy in so many ways, and who was so completely unable to understand why anyone would care for her that she lashed out fiercely at anyone who dared try.

Rose's head began to ache in its frenzied attempt to reconcile these two versions of Maleficent, to determine which parts of each were true, or if she was both, or if she was neither...while that small, nagging voice in the back of Rose's head urged her to say something sensible, something that might get through to the raging monster before her.

"Maleficent," Rose said quietly. It took every ounce of courage she had to look Maleficent in the eyes, but she did it. "When did you start wanting me to live?"

Maleficent stared at her, wide-eyed and still showing her teeth, looking not unlike a wild animal. "What in Hell's name is that supposed to mean?"

"It's...well, it's one thing to stop actively wanting me to die," Rose said, trying to keep the tremor out of her voice. "It's one thing to be neutral. I want to know...I'm asking when you started caring whether I lived or died."

"What makes you think I ever did?" Maleficent shot back coldly.

Rose frowned, which was probably made slightly less intimidating by her tear-stained cheeks and trembling lower lip. "You care about the scar on my wrist," she said. "You care enough to...to offer me a way out of this mess."

Maleficent's frown was far more effective. "Suppose I want to be rid of you."

The words stung, but for some strange and possibly suicidal reason, Rose refused to heed them. She steeled herself against Maleficent's icy glare and tried to gather her thoughts into some kind of counter-argument. What she said was not entirely intentional, and it was extremely reckless. It was the sort of thing Maleficent could correctly guess about Rose, but it was by no means the sort of thing Rose could correctly guess about anyone.

"Tell me you deliberately scared me away months ago because you wanted to be rid of me," she said as firmly as she could manage. The bite in her words was completely dampened by the tearful warble in her voice. "Tell me you hoped you would never see me again."

Against all odds, the fire in Maleficent's eyes was suddenly extinguished, and the rigidity of her angular shoulders softened ever so slightly. "I did," she said quietly.

The obvious truth in her words struck Rose like a blow to the stomach, and she collapsed against the wall in something rather close to abject despair.

"I hoped you would go to Kinsale, or back to the Eastern Kingdom, somewhere away from me...and away from danger. I can't..." she shook her head and looked down at her hands, neatly folded in her lap. "I can't give you anything that you need. Friendship...kindness...comfort..." she swallowed audibly "Affection... I know a great deal about a great many things," she looked up, her eyes filled once more with heart-wrenching sadness, "but I know nothing of those."

"That isn't true," said Rose, reaching out ineffectually and, as usual, falling short.

Maleficent averted her eyes. "The point is that I scared you away because I knew I was going to die, and I also knew that you might be deluded enough to try to save my miserable life once more if you found out about it."

Rose took a moment to consider this. "You knew you were going to die," she echoed.

Maleficent nodded.

"So you..." she shook her head. Strangely, she wasn't angry, or even upset. She supposed she might be fresh out of emotions for today. "You're as bad as them, that's what you are," she muttered, and the twisted sentiment made her smile, which was closely followed by a yawn. That was a battle for another day, for Rose's mind could barely wrap itself around such a convoluted revelation.

Rose spoke slowly and carefully. She didn't want to be unclear. "Perhaps in the beginning I saved you because I would have saved anyone," she said. "And perhaps...in the beginning...you didn't kill me because of a technicality." Rose swallowed the lump in her throat. "Now...now it's possible I wouldn't save just anyone...I don't know anymore...but would you kill me now, if you had the opportunity?"

Maleficent looked up at her, mildly alarmed and very confused. "No."

"The point I was going to make," she continued, feeling significantly calmer than she had when she'd been trying to make it, "was that just as your feelings for me must have changed, at least a little bit, so have mine for you. That is...I would still lay down my life for yours, not because I am foolish and sentimental, but because...you are you, and I am I...no matter how we've changed in the meantime. I don't know how to make it any clearer than that."

Maleficent stared at her for several seconds. "One could argue that such a conviction is foolish and sentimental by its very nature."

Feeling very daring, possibly because she had completely exhausted her entire emotional spectrum, Rose quirked one eyebrow at Maleficent. "Do you intend to?" she asked, privately hoping that Maleficent did not take her seriously, as she was very certain that she was far too tired to field any more fearsome outbursts this evening.

Fortunately, Maleficent's eyes twinkled and her expression softened into her usual neutral, which looked to the casual observer something like haughty disapproval. "I would," she said lightly, "but it's very late. And as I said, I would hate to see Zenovia break your leg later today."

A small smile tugged at the corners of Rose's mouth. "How very sweet of you."

Maleficent's lip curled. "Allow me to rephrase," she said, rearranging herself under the covers of her small bed with no awkwardness whatsoever, despite her lanky frame. "Your screams of agony would not be conducive to restful slumber."

To Maleficent's obvious chagrin, Rose's smile widened. "Ah, yes," she agreed, tucking herself into her own bed with considerably less grace. "Heaven forbid I should disrupt your beauty sleep, _princess_."

For a split second, just before Maleficent rolled her eyes and turned onto her other side with a huff of indignation which abruptly extinguished all of the candles in the room, Rose was absolutely certain she'd seen Maleficent smiling back.


End file.
